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TOM  SLADE 

AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

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University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


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ABOUT    DUSK    THEY    MADE    THEIR    CAMP    ON     A     STEEP, 
WOODED    SHORE. 

Frontispiece  {Page  40) 


TOM     SLAD 

AT    TEMPLE    CAMP 


BY 

PERCY  K.  FITZHUGH 

Author  of 

'tom  slade,  boy  scout  of  the  moving 
pictures,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 
WALTER  S.  ROGER6 


PUBLISHED  WITH  THE  APPROVAL  OF 

THE  BOY  SCOUTS  OF  AMERICA 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS       ::       NEW    YORK 


Copyright,  1917,  by 
GROSSET  .&  DUNLAP 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

OTAPTEB  PAGE 

I.    Roy's  Sacrifice i 

II.    Indian  Scout  Sign 10 

III.  Pee- Wee  and  Mary  Temple      .      .      19 

IV.  Tom  and  Roy 25 

V.  First  Coup  of  the  Mascot     ...      32 

VI.     The  Shelter 52 

VII.    The  "Good  Turn" 70 

VIII.     Bon   Voyage! 7$ 

IX.    The   AIystery 94 

X.  Pee-Wee's  Adventure      .      .      .      .110 

XI.  Tracks  and  Trailing      ....     124 

XII.  The  Long  Arm  of  the  Scout      .      .136 

XIII.  Temple  Camp 150 

XIV.  Hero  Cabin .165 

XV.     Coward 177 

XVI.     Ostracized 188 

XVII.  The  Winning  of  the  Golden  Cross     197 


TOM  SLADE 

AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

CHAPTER  I 

roy's  sacrifice 

"Rejected  by  a  large  majority — I  mean, 
elected  by  a  large  majority." 

Roy  Blakeley  gathered  up  the  ballots  in  his  two 
hands,  dropped  them  into  the  shoe  box  and  pushed 
the  box  across  the  table  to  Mr.  Ellsworth  as  if 
the  matter  were  finally  settled. 

"Honorable  Roy  Blakeley,"  he  added,  "didn't 
even  carry  his  own  patrol." 

This  humiliating  confession,  offered  in  Roy's 
gayest  manner,  was  true.  The  Silver  Foxes  had 
turned  from  their  leader  and,  to  a  scout,  voted 
for  Tom  Slade.  It  was  hinted  that  Roy  himself 
was  responsible  for  this,  but  he  was  a  good  poli- 
tician and  would  not  talk.  There  was  also  a  dark 
rumor  that  a  certain  young  lady  was  mixed  up  in 
the  matter  and  it  is  a  fact  that  only  the  night  be- 

i 


2       TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

fore  Roy  and  Mary  Temple  had  been  seen  in 
earnest  converse  on  the  wide  veranda  at  Grantley 
Square  by  Pee-wee  Harris,  who  believed  that  a 
scout  should  be  observant. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  Tom  had  carried  his  own 
patrol,  the  Elks,  unanimously,  and  the  Silver 
Foxes  had  voted  for  him  like  instructed  delegates, 
while  among  the  proud  and  dignified  Ravens  there 
had  been  but  one  dissenting  vote.  Someone  had 
cast  this  for  Pee-wee  Harris,  the  Silver  Fox  mas- 
cot and  the  troop's  chief  exhibit.  But,  of  course, 
it  was  only  a  joke.  The  idea  of  Pee-wee  going 
away  as  assistant  camp  manager  was  preposter- 
ous. Why,  you  could  hardly  see  him  without  a 
magnifying  glass. 

"If  this  particular  majority  had  been  much 
larger,"  announced  Roy,  "it  wouldn't  have  been 
a  majority  at  all ;  it  would  have  been  a  unanimity." 

"A  una  what?"  someone  asked. 

"A  unanimity — that's  Latin  for  home  run. 
Seems  a  pity  that  the  only  thing  that  prevented  a 
clean  sweep  was  a  little  three-foot  pocket  edition 
of  a  boy  scout " 

At  this  moment,  Pee-wee,  by  a  miracle  of  dex- 
terity, landed  a  ball  of  twine  plunk  in  the  middle 
of  Roy's  face. 


ROY'S  SACRIFICE  3 

"Roy,"  laughed  Mr.  Ellsworth,  "you're  a  good 
campaign  manager." 

"He's  a  boss,"  shouted  Pee-wee,  "that's  what 
he  is.  A  boss  is  a  feller  that  has  people  elected 
and  then  makes  them  do  what  he  says." 

"Well,  you  were  glad  enough  to  vote  for  him 
with  the  rest,  weren't  you?"  laughed  the  scout- 
master. 

And  Pee-wee  had  to  confess  that  he  was. 

But  there  was  no  doubt  that  Roy  had  managed 
the  whole  thing,  and  if  ever  political  boss  saw  his 
fondest  wishes  realized  Roy  did  now. 

"I  think,"  said  Mr.  Ellsworth,  "that  it  is  up  to 
Tom  to  deliver  his  speech  of  acceptance." 

"Sure  it  is,"  said  Westy  Martin  (Silver  Fox). 
"\Ye  want  to  know  his  policies.  Is  he  going  to 
favor  the  Elks  or  is  he  going  to  be  neutral?" 

"Is  he  for  troop  first  or  camp  first?"  asked  Doc. 
Carson   (Raven  and  First-aid  scout). 

"Is  Roy  Blakeley  going  to  come  in  for  three  or 
four  helpings  at  mess  because  he  ran  the  cam- 
paign?" asked  Connie  Bennett,  of  the  new 
Elks. 

"Speech,  speech!"  called  Eddie  Ingram,  of  the 
Silver  Foxes. 

Tom  looked  uneasily  at  Mr.  Ellsworth  and  on 


4      TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

the  scoutmaster's  laughing  nod  of  encouragement 
arose. 

He  was  not  at  his  best  in  a  thing  of  this  kind; 
he  had  always  envied  Roy  his  easy,  bantering  man- 
ner, but  he  was  not  the  one  to  shirk  a  duty,  so  he 
stood  up. 

He  was  about  fifteen  and  of  a  heavy,  ungraceful 
build.  His  hair  was  thick  and  rather  scraggly, 
his  face  was  of  the  square  type,  and  his  expression 
what  people  call  stolid.  He  had  freckles  but  not 
too  many,  and  his  mouth  was  large  and  his  lips 
tight-set.  His  Tace  wore  a  characteristic  frown 
which  was  the  last  feeble  trace  of  a  lowering  look 
which  had  once  disfigured  it.  Frowns  are  in  the 
taboo  list  of  the  scouts,  but  somehow  this  one 
wasn't  half  bad;  there  was  a  kind  of  rugged 
strength  in  it.  He  wore  khaki  trousers  and  a 
brown  flannel  shirt  which  was  unbuttoned  in  front, 
exposing  an  expanse  of  very  brown  chest. 

For  Tom  Slade's  virtues  you  will  have  to  plow 
through  these  pages  if  you  have  not  already  met 
him,  but  for  his  faults,  they  were  printed  all  over 
him  like  cities  on  a  map.  He  was  stubborn,  rather 
reticent,  sometimes  unreasonable,  and  carried  with 
him  that  air  of  stolid  self-confidence  which  is  apt 
to  be  found  in  one  who  has  surmounted  obstacles 


ROY'S  SACRIFICE  5 

and  risen  in  spite  of  handicaps.  It  was  often  said 
in  the  troop  that  one  never  knew  how  to  take 
Tom. 

"I  think  Pee-wee  is  right,"  he  said,  "and  I  guess 
Roy  managed  this.  I  could  see  he  was  doing  some 
private  wig-wag  work,  and  I  think  you've  all  been 
— what  d'you  call  it — co-something  or  other " 

"Coerced!"  suggested  Pee-wee. 

(Cries  of  "No,  you're  crazy!") 

"But  as  long  as  I'm  elected  I'll  take  the  job — 
and  I'm  very  thankful.  I  won't  deny  I  wanted  it. 
Roy  won't  get  any  favors."  (Cheers)  "If  I 
have  any  deciding  to  do  I'll  decide  the  way  I  think 
is  right.  That's  all  I've  got  to  say — oh,  yes, 
there's  one  thing  more — one  thing  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  in  case  I  was  lucky  enough  to  get  elected." 
(Cries  of  "Hear,  hear!")  "I'm  not  going  to  go 
by  the  railroad.  I  got  an  idea,  like,  that  it  doesn't 
look  right  for  a  scout  to  go  to  camp  by  train.  So 
I'm  going  to  hike  it  up  to  the  camp.  I'm  going 
to  start  early  enough  so  I  can  do  it.  When  a 
scout  steps  off  a  train  he  looks  like  a  summer 
boarder.  I  ask  Roy  to  go  with  me  if  he  can  start 
wrhen  I  do.  I  don't  want  you  fellows  to  think  I 
was  expecting  to  be  chosen.  I  didn't  let  myself 
think   about   it.      But   sometimes   you   can't   help 


6       TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

thinking  about  a  thing;  and  the  other  night  I  said 
to  myself  that  if  anything  should  happen  I  should 
get  elected " 

(A  voice,  "You  didn't  do  a  thing  but  walk  away 
with  it,  Tommy!") 

(Cries  of  "Shut  up  till  he  gets  through!") 

"I  wouldn't  go  to  that  camp  in  a  train.  I'm 
not  going  to  set  foot  in  it  till  I'm  qualified  for  a 
first-class  scout,  and  I'm  going  to  do  the  rest  of 
my  stunts  on  the  way.  I  want  Roy  to  go  with  me 
if  he  can.  I  thank  you  for  electing  me.  I'll  do 
my  best  in  that  job.  If  I  knew  how  to  say  it,  I'd 
thank  you  better.     I  guess  I'm  kind  of  rattled." 

The  blunt  little  speech  was  very  characteristic 
of  Tom  and  it  was  greeted  with  a  storm  of  ap- 
plause. He  had  a  way  of  blurting  out  his  plans 
and  ideas  without  giving  any  previous  hint  of 
them,  but  this  was  something  of  a  knock-out  blow. 

"Oh,  you  hit  it  right !"  shouted  Pee-wee.  "Gee, 
I  do  hate  railroad  trains — railroad  trains  and 
homework." 

"You  don't  mean  you're  going  to  hike  it  from 
here,  Tom,  do  you?"  asked  Mr.  Ellsworth. 

"I  had  an  idea  I  might  canoe  up  as  far  as 
Nyack,"  said  Tom,  "and  then  follow  the  river  up 
to  Catskill  Landing  and  hit  in  for  Leeds — but, 


ROY'S  SACRIFICE  7 

of  course,"  he  added,  "I  didn't  really  expect  to 
be  elected." 

"Oh,  crinkums!"  shouted  Pee-wee.  "I'll  go 
with  you !" 

"Well,"  said  Roy,  when  the  laughter  had  sub- 
sided, "this  is  a  new  wrinkle  and  it  sounds  rather 

risky  for  a  half-baked  Elk "      (Hisses  from 

the  Elks)  "So  far  as  I'm  concerned,  I  think  a 
hike  of  a  hundred  miles  or  so " 

"You're  crazy!"  interrupted  Pee-wee.  "You 
silver-plated  Fox " 

"Is  too  much,"  concluded  Ro)\  "In  the  first 
place,  there  would  have  to  be  a  whole  lot  of  dis- 
comfort." (Hisses)  "A  fellow  would  be  pretty 
sure  to  get  his  feet  wet."  (Mr.  Ellsworth  re- 
strained Pee-wee  with  difficulty. )  "He  would 
have  to   sleep   out  of  doors   in  the   damp   night 

air "      (A  voice,  "Slap  him  on  the  wrist!") 

"And  he  would  be  likely  to  get  lost.     Scouts,  it's 

no  fun  to  be  lost  in  the  woods "      (Cries  of 

"Yes,  it  is!")  "We  would  be  footsore  and 
weary,"  continued  Roy. 

"You  got  that  out  of  a  book!"  shouted  Pee-wee. 
"Footsore  and  weary — that's  the  way  folks  talk 
in  books !" 

"We  might  be  caught  in  the  rain,"  said  Roy, 


8       TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

soberly.  "We  might  have  to  pick  our  way  along 
some  obscure  trail  or  up  steep  mountains." 

"You  ought  to  go  and  take  a  ride  in  a  merry- 
go-round,"  cried  Pee-wee,  sarcastically. 

"In  short,  it  is  fraught  with  peril,"  said  Roy. 

"You  got  that  out  of  a  book,  too,"  said  Pee- 
wee,  disgustedly,  "fraught  with  'peril!" 

"I  think  it  is  too  much  of  an  undertaking,"  said 
Roy,  ignoring  him.  "We  can  get  round-trip  tick- 
ets." 

Pee-wee  almost  fell  off  his  chair. 

"But,  of  course,"  continued  Roy,  soberly,  "a 
scout  is  not  supposed  to  think  of  himself — espe- 
cially a  Silver  Fox.  I  am  a  Silver  Fox — sterling — 
warranted.  A  scout  is  a  brother  to  every  other 
scout.  He  ought  to  be  ready  to  make  sacrifices." 
(Mr.  Ellsworth  began  to  chuckle.) 

"He  ought  not  to  stand  by  and  see  a  fellow 
scout  in  danger.     He  ought  not  to  stand  and  see 

a  poor  Elk  go  headlong "      (Hisses)      "He 

ought  to  be  ready  with  a  good  turn  regardless 
of  his  own  comfort  and  safety."  (Hoots  and 
laughter)     "I  am  ready  with  a  good  turn.     I  am 

ready  to   sac "      (Jeers)      "I   am  ready  to 

sac "       (Jeers)       "I    am "       (Cries    of 

"Noble  lad!")     "I  am  ready  to  sac " 


ROY'S  SACRIFICE  9 

"Well,  go  ahead  and  sac,  why  don't  you?" 
shouted  Pee-wee  in  disgust.     "You're  a  hyp " 

"Hip — hooray!"  concluded  several  scouts. 

"You're  a  hyp — hyp — hypocrite!"  Pee-wee 
managed  to  ejaculate  amid  the  tumult. 

"I  am  ready  to  sac " 

"Oh,  go  on,  sac  and  be  done  with  it!" 

"I  am  ready  to  sacrifice  myself  for  Tom  Slade," 
finished  Roy,  magnanimously.  "Tom,"  he  added, 
extending  his  hand  across  the  table  with  a  noble 
air  of  martyrdom,  "Tom,  I  will  go  with  you !" 

The  meeting  broke  up  gaily,  Mr.  Ellsworth 
saying  that  he  would  certainly  communicate  Roy's 
generous  and  self-sacrificing  offer  to  National 
Headquarters  as  a  conspicuous  instance  of  a  mem- 
orable and  epoch-making  good  turn. 

"He  gets  my  goat!"  said  Pee-wee  to  the  scout- 
master. 

"I  am  very  glad,"  said  Mr.  Ellsworth,  soberly, 
"that  our  summer  begins  with  a  good  turn.  The 
Silver  Foxes  should  be  proud  of  their  unselfish 
leader."  Then  he  turned  to  Doc.  Carson  and 
winked  the  other  eye. 

He  was  a  great  jollier — Mr.  Ellsworth. 


CHAPTER  II 


The  old  Indian  scout  sign,  which  is  the  title 
of  this  chapter,  means  There  is  nothing  new  along 
this  trail  and  it  brings  you  back  to  the  same  place. 
If  you  are  already  acquainted  with  Tom  Slade 
and  his  friends  you  will  be  safe  in  skipping  this 
chapter  but,  otherwise,  you  would  better  read  it 
for  it  will  tell  you  a  little  of  Tom's  past  history 
and  of  the  other  scouts  with  whom  you  are  to 
become  acquainted  in  this  volume. 

To  know  just  how  all  this  election  business  came 
about  we  must  go  back  a  year  or  so  to  a  time 
when  Tom  Slade  was  just  a  hoodlum  down  in 
Barrel  Alley  and  believed  with  all  his  heart  that 
the  best  use  a  barrel  stave  could  be  put  to  was  to 
throw  it  into  the  Chinese  laundry.    He  had  heard 


INDIAN  SCOUT  SIGN  1 1 

of  the  Boy  Scouts  and  he  called  them  "regiment 
guys"  and  had  a  sophisticated  contempt  for  them. 

Then  all  of  a  sudden,  along  had  come  Roy 
Blakeley,  who  had  shown  him  that  he  was  just 
wasting  good  barrel  staves ;  that  you  could  make  a 
first-class  Indian  bow  out  of  a  barrel  stave.  Roy 
had  also  told  him  that  you  can't  smoke  cigarettes 
if  you  expect  to  aim  straight.  That  was  an  end 
of  the  barrel  as  a  missile  and  that  was  an  end  of 
Turkish  Blend  Mixture — or  whatever  you  call  it. 
There  wasn't  any  talk  or  preaching — just  a  couple 
of  good  knock-out  blows. 

Tom  had  held  that  of  all  the  joys  in  the  mis- 
chievous hoodlum  program  none  was  so  complete 
as  that  of  throwing  chunks  of  coal  through  street- 
car windows  at  the  passengers  inside.  Then  along 
had  come  Westy  Martin  and  shown  him  how  you 
could  mark  patrol  signs  on  rocks  with  chunks  of 
coal — signs  which  should  guide  the  watchful  scout 
through  the  trackless  wilderness.  Exit  coal  as  a 
missile. 

In  short,  Tom  Slade  awoke  to  the  realization 
not  only  that  he  was  a  hoodlum,  but  that  he  was 
out  of  date  with  his  vulgar  slang  and  bungling, 
unskilful  tricks. 

Tom  and  his   father  had  lived  in  two   rooms 


12     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

in  one  of  John  Temple's  tenements  down  in  Bar- 
rel Alley  and  John  Temple  and  his  wife  and 
daughter  lived  in  a  couple  of  dozen  rooms,  a  few 
lawns,  porches,  sun-parlors  and  things  up  in  Grant- 
ley  Square.  And  John  Temple  stood  a  better 
chance  of  being  struck  by  lightning  than  of  col- 
lecting the  rent  from  Bill  Slade. 

John  Temple  was  very  rich  and  very  grouchy. 
He  owned  the  Bridgeboro  National  Bank;  he 
owned  all  the  vacant  lots  with  their  hospitable 
"Keep  Out"  signs,  and  he  had  a  controlling  inter- 
est in  pretty  nearly  everything  else  in  town — ex- 
cept his  own  temper. 

Poor,  lazy  Bill  Slade  and  his  misguided  son 
might  have  gone  on  living  in  John  Temple's  tene- 
ment rent  free  until  it  fell  in  a  heap,  for  though 
Mr.  Temple  blustered  he  was  not  bad  at  heart; 
but  on  an  evil  day  Tom  had  thrown  a  rock  at 
Bridgeboro's  distinguished  citizen.  It  was  a  ran- 
dom, unscientific  shot  but,  as  luck  would  have  it, 
it  knocked  John  Temple's  new  golf  cap  off  into  the 
rich  mud  of  Barrel  Alley. 

It  did  not  hurt  John  Temple,  but  it  killed  the 
goose  that  laid  the  golden  eggs  for  the  Slades. 
Mr.  Temple's  dignity  was  more  than  hurt;  it  was 
black  and  blue.     He  would  rather  have  been  hit 


INDIAN  SCOUT  SIGN  13 

by  a  financial  panic  than  by  that  sordid  missile 
from  Barrel  Alley's  most  notorious  hoodlum. 
Inside  of  three  days  out  went  the  Slades  from 
John  Temple's  tenement,  bag  and  baggage. 

There  wasn't  much  baggage.  A  couple  of 
broken  chairs,  a  greasy  dining-table  which  Tom 
had  used  strategically  in  his  defensive  operations 
against  his  father's  assaults,  a  dented  beer-can 
and  a  few  other  dilapidated  odds  and  ends  consti- 
tuted the  household  effects  of  the  unfortunate 
father  and  son. 

Bill  Slade,  unable  to  cope  with  this  unexpected 
disaster,  disappeared  on  the  day  of  the  eviction 
and  Tom  was  sheltered  by  a  kindly  neighbor, 
Mrs.  O'Connor. 

His  fortunes  were  at  the  very  lowest  ebb  and 
it  seemed  a  fairly  safe  prophesy  that  he  would 
presently  land  in  the  Home  for  Wayward  Boys, 
when  one  day  he  met  Roy  Blakeley  and  tried  to 
hold  him  up  for  a  nickel. 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  defend  the  act,  but  it  was 
about  the  best  thing  that  Tom  ever  did  so  far 
as  his  own  interests  were  concerned.  Roy  took 
him  up  to  his  own  little  Camp  Solitaire  on  the 
beautiful  lawn  of  the  Blakeley  home,  gave  him  a 
cup  of  coffee,  some  plum  duff   (Silver  Fox  brand, 


i4    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

patent  applied  for),  and  passed  him  out  some  of 
the  funniest  slang  (all  brand  new)  that  poor 
Torn  had  ever  heard. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  Tom's  transforma- 
tion into  a  scout.  He  fell  for  scouting  with  a 
vengeance.  It  opened  up  a  new  world  to  him.  To 
be  sure,  this  king  of  the  hoodlums  did  not  capitu- 
late all  at  once — not  he.  He  was  still  wary  of 
all  "rich  guys"  and  "sissies";  but  he  used  to  go 
down  and  peek  through  a  hole  in  the  fence  of 
Temple's  lot  when  they  were  practising  their 
games. 

Mr.  Ellsworth  said  nothing,  only  winked  his 
eye  at  the  boys,  for  he  saw  which  way  the  wind 
was  blowing.  Tom  Slade,  king  of  the  hoodlums, 
had  the  scout  bug  and  didn't  know  it. 

Then,  when  the  time  was  ripe,  Mr.  Ellsworth 
called  him  down  into  the  field  one  day  for  a  try 
at  archery.  Tom  scrambled  down  from  the  fence 
and  shuffled  over  to  where  the  scouts  waited  with 
smiling,  friendly  faces;  but  just  at  that  moment, 
who  should  come  striding  through  the  field  but 
John  Temple — straight  for  the  little  group. 

What  happened  was  not  pleasant.  John  Tem- 
ple denounced  them  all  as  a  gang  of  trespassers, 
ordered  them  out  of  his  field  and  did  not  hesitate 


INDIAN  SCOUT  SIGN  15 

to  express  his  opinion  of  Tom  in  particular.  Mr. 
Ellsworth  then  and  there  championed  the  poor 
fellow  and  prophesied  that  notwithstanding  his 
past  the  scouts  would  make  a  man  of  him  yet. 

After  that  Tom  Slade  came  out  flat-footed  and 
hit  the  scout  trail.  He  was  never  able  to  deter- 
mine to  whom  he  should  be  most  grateful,  Roy 
Blakeley  or  Mr.  Ellsworth,  but  it  was  the  begin- 
ning of  a  friendship  between  the  two  boys  which 
became  closer  as  time  passed. 

There  is  no  use  retelling  a  tale  that  is  told. 
Tom  had  such  a  summer  in  camp  as  he  had  never 
dreamed  of  when  he  used  to  lie  in  bed  till  noon- 
time in  Barrel  Alley,  and  all  that  you  shall  find 
in  its  proper  place,  but  you  must  know  something 
of  how  Temple  Camp  came  into  being  and  how 
it  came  by  its  name. 

John  Temple  was  a  wonderful  man — oh,  he 
was  smart.  He  could  take  care  of  your  property 
for  you;  if  you  had  a  thousand  dollars  he  would 
turn  it  into  two  thousand  for  you — like  a  sleight- 
of-hand  performer.  He  could  tell  you  what  kind 
of  stocks  to  buy  and  when  to  sell  them.  He  knew 
where  to  buy  real  estate.  He  could  tell  you  when 
wheat  was  going  up  or  down — just  as  if  there 
were  a  scout  sign  to  go  by.     Tie  had  everything 


1 6     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

that  heart  could  wish — and  the  rheumatism  be- 
sides. 

But  his  dubious  prophesy  as  to  the  future  of 
Tom  Slade,  king  of  the  hoodlums,  came  out  all 
wrong.  Tom  was  instrumental  in  getting  back 
a  pin  which  had  been  stolen  from  Mary  Temple, 
and  when  her  father  saw  the  boy  after  six  months 
or  so  of  scouting  he  couldn't  have  been  more  sur- 
prised— not  even  if  the  Bridgeboro  Bank  had 
failed. 

Then  poor  old  John  Temple  (or  rich  old  John 
Temple)  showed  that  he  had  one  good  scout 
trait.  He  could  be  a  good  loser.  He  saw  that 
he  was  all  wrong  and  that  Mr.  Ellsworth  was 
right  and  he  straightway  built  a  pavilion  for  the 
scouts  in  the  beautiful  woods  where  all  the  sur- 
prising episodes  of  the  summer  which  had  opened 
his  eyes  had  taken  place. 

But  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  a  man  like 
John  Temple  would  never  be  satisfied  with  build- 
ing a  little  one-troop  camping  pavilion ;  not  he.  So 
what  should  he  do  but  buy  a  tract  of  land  up  in 
the  Catskills  close  to  a  beautiful  sheet  of  water 
which  was  called  Black  Lake;  and  here  he  put  up 
a  big  open  shack  with  a  dozen  or  so  log  cabins 
about  it  and  endowed  the  whole  thing  as  a  summer 


INDIAN  SCOUT  SIGN  17 

camp  where  troops  from  all  over  the  country 
might  come  and  find  accommodations  and  recrea- 
tion in  the  summer  months. 

That  was  not  all.  Temple  Camp  was  to  be  a 
school  where  scouting  might  be  taught  (Oh,  he 
was  going  to  do  the  right  thing,  was  old  John 
Temple !),  and  to  that  end  he  communicated  with 
somebody  who  communicated  with  somebody  else, 
who  got  in  touch  with  somebody  else  who  went  to 
some  ranch  or  other  a  hundred  miles  from  no- 
where in  the  woolly  west  and  asked  old  Jeb  Rush- 
more  if  he  wouldn't  come  east  and  look  after  this 
big  scout  camp.  How  in  the  world  John  Temple, 
in  his  big  leather  chair  in  the  Bridgeboro  Bank, 
had  ever  got  wind  of  Jeb  Rushmore  no  one  was 
able  to  find  out.  John  Temple  was  a  genius  for 
picking  out  men  and  in  this  case  he  touched  high- 
water  mark. 

Jeb  Rushmore  was  furnished  with  passes  over 
all  John  Temple's  railroads  straight  through  from 
somewhere  or  other  in  Dakota  to  Catskill  Land- 
ing, and  a  funny  sight  he  must  have  been  in  his 
flannel  shirt  and  slouch  hat,  sprawling  his  lanky 
limbs  from  the  platforms  of  observation  cars, 
drawling  out  his  pithy  observations  about  the 
civilization  which  he  had  lever  before  seen. 


1 8     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

There  are  only  two  more  things  necessary  to 
mention  in  this  "side  trail"  chapter.  Tom's  father 
bobbed  up  after  the  boy  had  become  a  scout.  He 
was  a  mere  shadow  of  his  former  self;  drink  and 
a  wandering  life  had  all  but  completed  his  ruin, 
and  although  Tom  and  his  companions  gave  him 
a  home  in  their  pleasant  camp  it  was  too  late  to 
help  him  much  and  he  died  among  them,  having 
seen  (if  it  were  any  satisfaction  for  him  to  see) 
that  scouting  had  made  a  splendid  boy  of  his 
once  neglected  son. 

This  brings  us  to  the  main  trail  again  and  ex- 
plains why  it  was  that  Roy  Blakeley  had  held 
mysterious  conferences  with  Mary  Temple,  and 
suggested  to  all  the  three  patrols  that  it  would 
be  a  good  idea  to  elect  Tom  to  go  to  Temple 
Camp  to  assist  in  its  preparation  and  manage- 
ment. They  had  all  known  that  one  of  their 
number  was  to  be  chosen  for  this  post  and  Roy 
had  hit  on  Tom  as  the  one  to  go  because  he  still 
lived  with  Mrs.  O'Connor  down  in  Barrel  Alley 
and  had  not  the  same  pleasant  home  surround- 
ings as  the  other  boys. 

A  scout  is  thoughtful. 


CHAPTER  III 

PEE-WEE  AND  MARY  TEMPLE 

Throughout  the  previous  summer  Tom  had 
been  in  Roy's  patrol,  the  Silver  Foxes,  but  when 
the  new  Elk  Patrol  was  formed  with  Connie  Ben- 
nett, the  Bronson  boys  and  others,  he  had  been 
chosen  its  leader. 

"I  think  it's  just  glorious,"  said  Mary  Templev 
when  Tom  told  her  of  his  plan  and  of  Roy's  noble 
sacrifice,  "and  I  wish  I  was  a  boy." 

"Oh,  it's  great  to  be  a  boy,"  enthused  Pee-wee. 
"Gee,  that's  one  thing  I'm  glad  of  anyway — that 
I'm  a  boy!" 

"Half  a  boy  is  better  than  all  girl,"  taunted 
Roy. 

"You're  a  model  boy,"  added  Westy. 

"And  mother  and  father  and  I  are  coming  up 

\n  the  touring  car  in  August  to  visit  the  camp," 

said  Mary.      "Oh,   I   think  it's  perfectly  lovely 

you  and  Tom  are  going  on  ahead  and  that  you're 

going  to  walk,  and  you'll  have  everything  ready 

when  the  others  get  there.    Good-bye." 

19 


2o    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

Tom  and  Roy  were  on  their  way  up  to  the 
Blakeley  place  to  set  about  preparing  for  the 
hike,  for  they  meant  to  start  as  soon  as  they 
could  get  ready.  Pee-wee  lingered  upon  the  ver- 
anda at  Temple  Court  swinging  his  legs  from 
the  rubble-stone  coping — those  same  legs  that 
had  made  the  scout  pace  famous. 

"Oh,  crinkums,"  he  said,  "they'll  have  some 
time !  Cracky,  but  I'd  like  to  go.  You  don't  be- 
lieve all  this  about  Roy's  making  a  noble  sacrifice, 
do  you?"  he  added,  scornfully. 

Mary  laughed  and  said  she  didn't. 

"Because  that  isn't  a  good  turn,"  Pee-wee  ar- 
gued, anxious  that  Mary  should  not  get  a  mis- 
taken notion  of  this  important  phase  of  scouting. 
"A  good  turn  is  when  you  do  something  that 
helps  somebody  else.  If  you  do  it  because  you 
get  a  lot  of  fun  out  of  it  yourself,  then  it  isn't  a 
good  turn  at  all.  Of  course,  Roy  knows  that; 
he's  only  jollying  when  he  calls  it  a  good  turn. 
You  have  to  be  careful  with  Roy,  he's  a  terrible 
jollier — and  Mr.  Ellsworth's  pretty  near  as  bad. 
Oh,  cracky,  but  I'd  like  to  go  with  them — that's 
one  sure  thing.  You  think  it's  no  fun  being  a 
girl  and  I'll  admit  /  wouldn't  want  to  be  one — I 
got  to  admit  that;  but  it's  pretty  near  as  bad  to 


PEE-WEE  AND  MARY  TEMPLE      21 

be  small.  If  you're  small  they  jolly  you.  And  if 
I  asked  them  to  let  me  go  they'd  only  laugh.  Gee, 
I  don't  mind  being  jollied,  but  I  "would  like  to  go. 
That's  one  thing  you  ought  to  be  thankful  for — 
you're  not  small.  Of  course,  maybe  girls  can't 
do  so  many  things  as  boys — I  mean  scouting — 
like — but — oh,  crinkums,"  he  broke  off  in  an 
ecstasy  of  joyous  reflection.  "Oh,  crinkums, 
that'll  be  some  trip,  believe  me." 

Mary  Temple  looked  at  the  diminutive  ligure 
in  khaki  trousers  which  sat  before  her  on  the 
coping.  It  was  one  of  the  good  things  about  Pee- 
wee  Harris  that  he  never  dreamed  how  much 
people  liked  him. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Mary.  "I 
mean  about  a  girl  not  being  able  to  do  things — 
scouting  things.    Mightn't  a  girl  do  a  good  turn?" 

"Oh,  sure,"  Pee-wee  conceded. 

"But  I  suppose  if  it  gave  her  very  much  pleas- 
ure it  wouldn't  be  a  good  turn." 

"Oh,  yes,  it  might,"  admitted  Pee-wee,  anxious 
to  explain  the  science  of  good  turns.  "This  is 
the  way  it  is.  If  you  do  a  good  turn  it's  sure  to 
make  you  feel  good — that  you  did  it — see?  But 
if  you  do  it  just  for  your  own  pleasure,  then  it's 
not  a  good  turn.     But  Roy  puts  over  a  lot  of 


2z    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

nonsense  about  good  turns.  He  does  it  just  to 
make  me  mad — because  I've  made  a  sort  of  study 
of  them — like." 

Mary  laughed  in  spite  of  herself. 

"He  says  it  was  a  good  thing  when  Tom  threw 
a  barrel  stave  in  the  Chinese  laundry  because  it 
led  to  his  being  a  scout.  But  that  isn't  logic.  Bo 
you  know  what  logic  is?" 

Mary  thought  she  had  a  notion  of  what  it 
was. 

"A  thing  that's  bad  can't  be  good,  can  it?" 
Pee-wee  persisted.  "Suppose  you  should  hit  me 
with  a  brick " 

"I  wouldn't  think  of  doing  such  a  thing!" 

"But  suppose  you  did.  And  suppose  the  scouts 
came  along  and  gave  me  first  aid  and  after  that 
I  became  a  scout.  Could  you  say  you  did  me  a 
good  turn  by  hitting  me  with  a  brick  because  that 
way  I  got  to  be  a  scout?  Roy — you  got  to  be 
careful  with  him — you  can't  always  tell  when  he's 
jollying." 

Mary  looked  at  him  intently  for  a  few  sec- 
onds. "Well,  then,"  said  she,  "since  you've  made 
a  study  of  good  turns  tell  me  this.  If  Roy  and 
Tom  were  to  ask  you  to  go  with  them  on  their 
long  hike,  would  that  be  a  good  turn?" 


PEE-WEE  AND  MARY  TEMPLE      23 

"Sure  it  would,  because  it  would  have  a  sacri- 
fice in  it,  don't  you  see?" 

"How?" 

"Because  they'd  do  it  just  to  please  me — they 
wouldn't  really  want  me." 

"Well,"  she  laughed,  "Roy's  good  at  making 
sacrifices." 

"Je-ru-salem !"  said  Pee-wee,  shaking  his  head 
almost  incredulously  at  the  idea  of  such  good  for- 
tune; "that'll  be  some  trip.  But  you  know  what 
they  say,  and  it's  true — I  got  to  admit  it's  true — 
that  two's  a  company,  three's  a  crowd." 

"It  wouldn't  be  three,"  laughed  Mary;  "it 
would  only  be  two  and  a  half." 

She  watched  the  sturdy  figure  as  Pee-wee 
trudged  along  the  gravel  walk  and  down  the 
street.  He  seemed  even  smaller  than  he  had 
seemed  on  the  veranda.  And  it  was  borne  in 
upon  her  how  much  jollying  he  stood  for  and  how 
many  good  things  he  missed  just  because  he  was 
little,  and  how  cheerful  and  generous-hearted  he 
was  withal. 

The  next  morning  Roy  received  a  letter  which 
read: 

"Dear  Roy — I  want  you  and  Tom  to  ask 
Waiter  Harris  to  go  with  you.     Please  don't 


24    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

tell  him  that  I  asked  you.  You  said  you 
were  going  to  name  one  of  the  cabins  or  one 
of  the  boats  for  me  because  I  took  so  much 
interest.  I'd  rather  have  you  do  this.  You 
can  call  it  a  good  turn  if  you  want  to — a  real 
one.  "Mary  Temple." 

Pee-wee  Harris  also  received  an  envelope  with 
an  enclosure  similar  to  many  which  he  had  re- 
ceived of  late.  He  suspected  their  source.  This 
one  read  as  follows : 

//  you  want  to  be  a  scout, 

You  must  watch  what  you're  about, 

And  never  let  a  chance  for  mischief  pass. 
You  may  win  the  golden  cross 
If  your  ball  you  gayly  toss 

Through  the  middle  of  a  neighbor's 
pane  of  glass. 


CHAPTER  IV 

TOM  AND  ROY 

The  letter  from  Mary  Temple  fell  on  Camp 
Solitaire  like  a  thunderbolt.  Camp  Solitaire  was 
the  name  which  Roy  had  given  his  own  cosy  little 
tent  on  the  Blakeley  lawn,  and  here  he  and  Tom 
were  packing  duffel  bags  and  sharpening  belt 
axes  ready  for  their  long  tramp  when  the  note 
from  Grantley  Square  was  scaled  to  them  by  the 
postman  as  he  made  a  short  cut  across  the  lawn. 

"What  do  you  know  about  that?"  said  Roy, 
clearly  annoyed.  "We  can't  take  him;  he's  too 
small.  Who's  going  to  take  the  responsibility? 
This  is  a  team  hike." 

"You  don't  suppose  he  put  the  idea  in  her  head, 
do  you?"  Tom  asked. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  You  saw  yourself  how 
crazy  he  was  about  it." 

"Pee-wee's  all  right,"  said  Tom. 

"Sure  he's  all  right.  He's  the  best  little  camp 
mascot   that   ever   happened.      But  how  are  we 

25 


26    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

going  to  take  him  along  on  this  hike?  And  what's 
he  going  to  do  when  he  gets  there?" 

"He  could  help  us  on  the  troop  cabin — getting 
it  ready,"  Tom  suggested. 

Roy  threw  the  letter  aside  in  disgust.  "That's 
a  girl  all  over,"  he  said,  as  he  sulkily  packed  his 
duffel  bag.  "She  doesn't  think  of  what  it  means 
— she  just  wants  it  done,  that's  all,  so  she  sends 
her  what-d'you-call-it — edict.  Pee-wee  can't 
stand  for  a  hundred  and  forty  mile  hike.  We'd 
have  to  get  a  baby  carriage !" 

He  went  on  with  his  packing,  thrusting  things 
into  the  depths  of  his  duffel  bag  half-heartedly 
and  with  but  a  fraction  of  his  usual  skill.  "You 
know  as  well  as  I  do  about  team  hikes.  How  can 
we  fix  this  up  for  three  now?  We've  got  every- 
thing ready  and  made  all  our  plans;  now  it  seems 
we've  got  to  cart  this  kid  along  or  be  in  Dutch  up 
at  Temple's.  He  can't  hike  twenty  miles  a  day. 
He's  just  got  a  bee  in  his  dome  that  he'd  like " 

"It  would  be  a  good  turn,"  interrupted  Tom. 
"I  was  counting  on  a  team  hike  myself.  I  wanted 
to  be  off  on  a  trip  alone  with  you  a  while.  I'm 
disappointed  too,  but  it  would  be  a  good  turn — it 
would  be  a  peach  of  a  one,  so  far  as  that's  con- 
cerned." 


TOM  AND  ROY  27 

"No,  it  wouldn't,"  contradicted  Roy.  "It 
would  be  a  piece  of  blamed  foolishness." 

"He'd  furnish  some  fun — he  always  does." 

"He'd  furnish  a  lot  of  trouble  and  responsi- 
bility !  Why  can't  he  wait  and  come  up  with  the 
rest?  Makes  me  sick!"  Roy  added,  as  he  hurled 
the  aluminum  coffee-pot  out  of  a  chair  and  sat 
down  disgustedly. 

"Now,  you  see,  you  dented  that,"  said  Tom. 

"A  lot  /  care.  Gee,  I'd  like  to  call  the  whole 
thing  off — that's  what  I'd  like  to  do.  I'd  do  it 
for  two  cents." 

"Well,  I've  got  two  cents,"  said  Tom,  "but 
I'm  not  going  to  offer  it.  /  say,  let's  make  the 
best  of  it.  I've  seen  you  holding  your  sides  laugh- 
ing at  Pee-wee.  You  said  yourself  he  was  a  live- 
reel  photoplay  all  by  himself." 

Roy  drew  a  long  breath  and  said  nothing.  He 
was  plainly  in  his  very  worst  humor.  He  did  not 
want  Pee-wee  to  go.  He,  too,  wanted  to  be  alone 
with  Tom.  There  were  plenty  of  good  turns  to 
be  done  without  bothering  with  this  particular 
one.  Besides,  it  was  not  a  good  turn,  he  told 
himself.  It  would  expose  Walter  Harris  to 
perils Oh,  Roy  was  very  generous  and  con- 
siderate of  Walter  Harris 


28     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"If  it's  a  question  of  good  turns,"  he  said,  "it 
would  be  a  better  turn  to  leave  him  home,  where 
he'll  be  safe  and  happy.  It's  no  good  turn  to  him, 
dragging  him  up  and  down  mountains  till  he's  so 
dog-tired  he  falls  all  over  himself — is  it?" 

Tom  smiled  a  little,  but  said  nothing. 

"Oh,  well,  if  that's  the  way  you  feel,"  said  Roy, 
pulling  the  cord  of  his  duffel  bag  so  tight  that  it 
snapped,  "you  and  Pee-wee  had  better  go  and  I'll 
back  out." 

"It  ain't  the  way  I  feel,"  said  Tom,  in  his  slow 
way.  "I'd  rather  go  alone  with  you.  Didn't  I 
say  so?  I  guess  Pee-wee  thinks  he's  stronger  than 
he  is.  /  think  he'd  better  be  at  home  too  and  I'd 
rather  he'd  stay  home,  though  it's  mostly  just  be- 
cause I  want  to  be  alone  with  you.  Maybe  it's 
selfish,  but  if  it  is  I  can't  help  it.  I  think  some- 
times a  feller  might  do  something  selfish  and 
make  up  for  it  some  other  way — maybe.  But  I 
don't  think  any  feller's  got  a  right  to  do  some- 
thing selfish  and  then  call  it  a  good  turn.  I  don't 
believe  a  long  hike  would  hurt  Pee-wee.  He's 
the  best  scout-pacer  in  your  patrol.  But  I  want 
to  go  alone  with  you  and  I'd  just  as  soon  tell 
Mary  so.  I  suppose  it  would  be  selfish,  but  we'd 
just  try  to  make  up " 


TOM  AND  ROY  29 

"Oh,  shut  up,  will  you !"  snapped  Roy.  "You 
get  on  my  nerves,  dragging  along  with  your  the- 
ories and  things.  /  don't  care  who  goes  or  if 
anybody  goes.  And  you  can  go  home  and  sleep 
for  all  I  care." 

"All  right,"  said  Tom,  rising.  "I'd  rather  do 
that  than  stay  here  and  fight.  I  don't  see  any  use 
talking  about  whether  it's  a  good  turn  to  Pee- 
wee."  (Roy  ostentatiously  busied  himself  with 
his  packing  and  pretended  not  to  hear.)  "I  wasn't 
thinking  about  Pee-wee  so  much  anyway.  It's 
Mary  Temple  that  I  was  thinking  of.  It  would 
be  a  good  turn  to  her,  you  can't  deny  that.  Pee- 
wee  Harris  has  got  nothing  to  do  with  it — it's 
between  you  and  me  and  Mary  Temple." 

"You  going  home?"  Roy  asked,  coldly. 

"Yes." 

"Well,  you  and  Pee-wee  and  Mary  Temple 
can  fix  it  up.     I'm  out  of  it." 

He  took  a  pad  and  began  to  write,  while  Tom 
lingered  in  the  doorway  of  the  tent,  stolid,  as  he 
always  was. 

"Wait  and  mail  this  for  me,  will  you,"  said 
Roy.    He  wrote  : 

"Dear  Mary — Since  you  butted  in  Tom 
and  I  have  decided  that  it  would  be  best  for 


30    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

Peewee  to  go  with  him  and  I'll  stay  here. 
Anyway,  that's  what  I've  decided.  So  you'll 
get  your  wish,  all  right,  and  I  should  worry. 

"Roy." 

Tom  took  the  sealed  envelope,  but  paused 
irresolutely  in  the  doorway.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  he  and  Roy  had  ever  quarrelled. 

"What  did  you  say  to  her?"  he  asked. 

"Never  mind  what  I  said,"  Roy  snapped. 
"You'll  get  your  wish." 

"I'd  rather  go  alone  with  you,"  said  Tom, 
simply.  "I  told  you  that  already.  I'd  rather 
see  Pee-wee  stay  home.  I  care  more  for  you," 
he  said,  hesitating  a  little,  "than  for  anyone  else. 
But  I  vote  to  take  Pee-wee  because  Mary  wants — 
asks — us  to.  I  wouldn't  call  it  a  good  turn  leav- 
ing his  home,  and  you  wouldn't  either — only 
you're  disappointed,  same  as  I  am.  I  wouldn't 
even  call  it  much  of  a  good  turn  taking  him.  We 
can  never  pay  back  Mary  Temple.  It  would  be 
like  giving  her  a  cent  when  we  owed  her  a  thou- 
sand. I  got  to  do  what  I  think  is  right — you — 
you  made  me  a  scout.  I — I  got  to  be  thankful 
to  you  if  I  can  see  straight.  It's — it's  kind  of — 
like  a — like  a  trail — like,"  he  blundered  on. 
"There  can  be  trails  in  your  mind,  kind  of.    Once 


TOM  AND  ROY  31 

I  chucked  stones  at  Pee-wee  and  swiped  Mary's 
ball.  Now  I  want  to  take  him  along — a  little  bit 
for  his  sake,  but  mostly  for  hers.  And  I  want  to 
go  alone  with  you  for  my  own  sake,  because — 
because,"  he  hesitated,  "because  I  want  to  be  alone 
with  you.  But  I  got  to  hit  the  right  trail — you 
taught  me  that " 

"Well,  go  ahead  and  hit  it,"  said  Roy,  "it's 
right  outside  the  door." 

Tom  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  few  seconds 
as  if  he  did  not  understand.  You  might  have  seen 
something  out  of  the  ordinary  then  in  that  stolid 
face.  After  a  moment  he  turned  and  went  down 
the  hill  and  around  the  corner  of  the  big  bank 
building,  passed  Ching  Woo's  laundry,  into  which 
he  had  once  thrown  dirty  barrel  staves,  picked 
his  way  through  the  mud  of  Barrel  Alley  and 
entered  the  door  of  the  tenement  where  Mrs. 
O'Connor  lived.  He  had  not  slept  there  for 
three  nights.  The  sound  of  cats  wailing  and 
trucks  rattling  and  babies  crying  was  not  much 
like  the  soughing  of  the  wind  in  the  elms  up  on 
the  Blakeley  lawn.  But  if  you  have  hit  the  right 
trail  and  have  a  good  conscience  you  can  sleep, 
and  Tom  slept  fairly  well  amid  the  din  and  up- 
roar. 


CHAPTER  V 

FIRST  COUP  OF  THE  MASCOT 

Anyway,  he  slept  better  than  Roy  slept.  All 
night  long  the  leader  of  the  Silver  Foxes  was 
haunted  by  that  letter.  The  darkness,  the  breeze, 
the  soothing  music  of  crickets  and  locusts  outside 
his  little  tent  dissipated  his  anger,  as  the  voices  of 
nature  are  pretty  sure  to  do,  and  made  him  see 
straight,  to  use  Tom's  phrase. 

Fie  thought  of  Tom  making  his  lonely  way  back 
to  Barrel  Alley  and  going  to  bed  there  amid  the 
very  scenes  which  he  had  been  so  anxious  to  have 
him  forget.  He  fancied  him  sitting  on  the  edge 
of  his  cot  in  Mrs.  O'Connor's  stuffy  dining  room, 
reading  his  Scout  Manual.  He  was  always  read- 
ing his  Manual;  he  had  it  all  marked  up  like  a 
blazed  trail.  Roy  got  small  consolation  now 
from  the  fact  that  he  had  procured  Tom's  elec- 
tion. If  Tom  had  been  angry  at  him,  his  con- 
science would  be  easier  now;  but  Tom  seldom  got 
mad. 

In  imagination  he  followed  that  letter  to  the 
32 


FIRST  COUP  OF  THE  MASCOT      33 

Temple  home.  He  saw  it  laid  at  Mary's  place 
at  the  dining  table.  He  saw  her  come  dancing 
in  to  breakfast  and  pick  it  up  and  wave  it  gaily. 
He  saw  John  Temple  reading  his  paper  at  the 
head  of  the  table  and  advising  with  Mary,  who 
was  his  partner  in  the  Temple  Camp  enterprise. 
He  knew  it  was  for  her  sake  quite  as  much  as  for 
the  scouts  that  Mr.  Temple  had  made  this  splen- 
did gift,  and  he  knew  (for  he  had  dined  at  Grant- 
ley  Square)  just  how  father  and  daughter  con- 
ferred together.  Why,  who  was  it  but  Mary  that 
told  John  Temple  there  must  be  ten  thousand 
wooden  plates  and  goodness  knows  how  many 
sanitary  drinking  cups?  Mary  had  it  all  marked 
in  the  catalogues. 

Roy  pictured  her  as  she  opened  the  letter  and 
read  it, — that  rude,  selfish  note.  He  wondered 
what  she  would  say.  And  he  wondered  what  John 
Temple  would  think.  It  would  be  such  a  surprise 
to  her  that  poor  little  Pee-wee  was  not  wanted. 

In  the  morning  Roy  arose  feeling  very  wretched 
after  an  all  but  sleepless  night.  He  did  not  know 
what  he  should  do  that  day.  He  might  go  up  to 
Grantley  Square  and  apologize,  but  you  cannot, 
by  apology,  undo  what  is  done. 

While  he  was  cooking  his  breakfast  he  thought 


34    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

of  Pee-wee — Pee-wee  who  was  always  so  gay  and 
enthusiastic,  who  worshipped  Roy,  and  who  "did 
not  mind  being  jollied."  He  would  be  ashamed 
to  face  Pee-wee  even  if  that  redoubtable  scout 
pacer  were  sublimely  innocent  of  what  had  taken 
place. 

At  about  noon  he  saw  Tom  coming  up  the 
lawn.  He  looked  a  little  shamefaced  as  Tom 
came  in  and  sat  down  without  a  word. 

"I — I  was  going  to  go  down  to  see  you,"  said 
Roy.  "I — I  feel  different  now.  I  can  see  straight. 
I  wish  I  hadn't " 

"I've  got  a  letter  for  you,"  said  Tom,  disinter- 
estedly.    "I  was  told  to  deliver  it." 

"You — were  you  at  Temple's?" 

"There  isn't  any  answer,"  said  Tom,  with  his 
usual  exasperating  stolidness. 

Roy  hesitated  a  moment.  Then,  as  one  will 
take  a  dose  of  medicine  quickly  to  have  it  over, 
he  grasped  the  envelope,  tore  it  open,  and  read: 

"Dear  Mary — Since  you  butted  in  Tom 
and  I  have  decided  it  would  be  best  for  Pee- 
wee  to  go  with  him  and  I'll  stay  home.  Any- 
way, that's  what  I've  decided.  So  you'll  get 
your  wish,  all  right,  and  I  should  worry. 

"Roy." 


MP 


WfascStf. 


MARY    TEMPLE    WAVED    THEM    A     LAST    GOOD-BYE. 

Page  36 


FIRST  COUP  OF  THE  MASCOT      35 

He  looked  up  into  Tom's  almost  expression- 
less countenance.      "Who — told — you  to  deliver 


it— T 


om 


"5" 


"I  told  myself.  You  said  you'd  call  the  whole 
thing  off  for  two  cents.  But  you  ought  not  to 
expect  me  to  pay  the  two  cents " 

"Didn't  I  put  a  stamp  on  it?"  said  Roy,  look- 
ing at  the  envelope. 

"If  you  want  to  put  a  stamp  on  it  now,"  said 
Tom,  "I'll  go  and  mail  it  for  you — but  I — I 
didn't  feel  I  cared  to  trust  you  for  two  cents — 
over  night." 

Through  glistening  eyes  Roy  looked  straight 
at  Tom,  but  found  no  response  in  that  dogged 
countenance.  But  he  knew  Tom,  and  knew  what 
to  expect  from  him.  "You  eld  grouch,"  he 
shouted,  running  his  hand  through  Tom's  already 
tousled  and  rebellious  hair.  "Why  don't  you 
laugh?  So  you  wouldn't  trust  me  for  two  cents, 
you  old  Elk  skinflint,  wouldn't  you.  Well,  then, 
the  letter  doesn't  get  mailed,  that's  all,  for  I  hap- 
pen to  have  only  one  stamp  left  and  that's  going 
to  Pee-wee  Harris.  Come  on,  get  your  wits  to 
work  now,  and  we'll  send  him  the  invitation  in 
the  form  of  a  verse,  what  d'you  say?" 

He  gave  Tom  such  a  push  that  even  he  couldn't 


36    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

help  laughing  as  he  staggered  against  the  tent- 
pole. 

"I'm  no  good  at  writing  verse,"  said  he. 

"Oh,  but  we'll  jolly  the  life  out  of  that  kid 
when  we  get  him  away,"  said  Roy. 

It  is  a  wise  precept  that  where  ignorance  is 
bliss,  'tis  folly  to  be  wise.  Pee-wee  Harris  never 
dreamed  of  the  discussion  that  had  taken  place 
as  to  his  going,  and  he  accepted  the  invitation  with 
a  glad  heart. 

On  the  momentous  morning  when  the  trio  set 
forth  upon  their  journey,  Mary  Temple,  as  glad 
as  they,  stood  upon  the  steps  at  Grantley  Square 
and  waved  them  a  last  good-bye. 

"Don't  forget,"  she  called,  "we're  coming  up 
in  the  car  in  August  to  visit  you  and  see  the  camp 
and  that  dreadful  Jeb  or  Jcb  or  Jib  or  whatever 
you  call  him,  who  smokes  a  corn-cop  pipe — ugh!" 

The  last  they  saw  of  her  was  a  girlish  shrug  of 
disgust  at  that  strange  personage  out  of  the  West 
about  whom  (largely  for  her  benefit)  Roy  and 
others  had  circulated  the  most  outlandish  tales. 
Jeb  Rushmore  was  already  ensconced  in  the  unfin- 
ished camp,  and  from  the  few  letters  which  had 
come  from  him  it  was  judged  that  his  excursion 
east  had  not  spoiled  him.     One  of  these  missives 


FIRST  COUP  OF  THE  MASCOT      37 

had  been  addressed  to  Mister  John  Temple  and 
must  have  been  a  refreshing  variation  from  the 
routine  mail  which  awaited  Mr.  Temple  each 
morning  at  the  big  granite  bank.     It  read: 

"Thar's  a  crittur  come  here  to  paint  names 
o'  animiles  on  the  cabin  doors.  I  told  him 
friendly  sich  wuzn't  wanted,  likewise  no 
numbers.  He  see  it  were  best  ter  go.  Bein' 
you  put  up  th'  money  I  would  say  polite  and 
likewise  explain  ez  how  the  skins  uv  animiles 
is  propper  fur  signs  an'  not  numbers  bein'  ez 
cabins  is  not  railroad  cars." 

This  is  a  fair  sample  of  the  letters  which  were 
received  by  Mr.  Temple,  by  Mr.  Ellsworth,  and 
even  at  National  Scout  Headquarters,  which  Jeb 
Rushmore  called  "the  main  ranch." 

The  idea  of  putting  the  skin  of  a  silver  fox,  for 
instance,  on  the  patrol's  cabin  instead  of  a  painted 
caricature  of  that  animal,  took  the  boys  by  storm, 
and  to  them  at  least  Jeb  Rushmore  became  a  very 
real  character  long  before  they  ever  met  him. 
They  felt  that  Jeb  Rushmore  had  the  right  idea 
and  they  were  thrilled  at  the  tragic  possibilities 
of  that  ominous  sentence,  "He  see  it  were  best 
to  go." 


3  8     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

The  whole  troop  was  down  at  the  boathouse  to 
see  the  boys  off.  Tom  and  Roy  wore  old  khaki 
trousers  and  faded  shirts  which  had  seen  service 
in  many  a  rough  hike;  their  scarred  duffel  bags 
bore  unmistakable  signs  of  hard  usage,  but  Pee- 
wee  was  resplendent  in  his  full  regalia,  with  his 
monogram  burned  in  a  complicated  design  into 
the  polished  leather  of  his  brand  new  duffel  bag. 
His  "trousseau,"  as  the  boys  called  it,  was  indeed 
as  complete  and  accurate  as  was  possible.  Even 
the  scout  smile,  which  is  not  the  least  part  of  the 
scout  make-up,  was  carried  to  a  conspicuous  ex- 
treme; he  smiled  all  over;  he  was  one  vast  smile. 

"Don't  fall  off  any  mountains,  Pee-wee." 

"Be  sure  to  take  your  smile  off  when  you  go  to 
bed." 

"If  you  get  tired,  you  can  jump  on  a  train." 

"Pee-wee,  you  look  as  if  you  were  posing  for 
animal  crackers." 

These  were  some  of  the  flippant  comments 
which  were  hurled  at  Pee-wee  as  the  three,  in 
Roy's  canoe,  glided  from  the  float  and  up  the 
river  on  the  first  stage  of  what  was  destined  to  be 
an  adventurous  journey. 

The  river,  along  whose  lower  reaches  Bridge- 
boro  was  situated,  had  its  source  within  a  mile  or 


FIRST  COUP  GF  TITS  MASCOT      39 

two  of  the  Hudson  in  the  vicinity  of  Nyack.  From 
the  great  city  it  was  navigable  by  power  craft  as 
far  as  Bridgeboro  and  even  above  at  full  tide,  but 
a  mile  or  two  above  the  boys'  home  town  it  nar- 
rowed to  a  mere  creek,  winding  its  erratic  way 
through  a  beautiful  country  where  intertwined 
and  overarching  boughs  formed  dim  tunnels 
through  which  the  canoeist  passed  wTith  no  sound 
but  the  swishing  of  his  own  paddle.  The  boys 
had  never  before  canoed  to  the  river's  source, 
though  it  was  one  of  the  things  they  had  always 
been  meaning  to  do.  It  was  a  happy  thought  of 
Tom's  to  make  it  a  part  of  their  journey  now  and 
strike  into  the  roads  along  the  Hudson  in  that 
way. 

"Oh,  crinkums,  I'm  crazy  to  see  Jeb  Rushmore, 
aren't  you?"  said  Pee-wee.  "I  never  thought  I'd 
have  a  chance  to  go  like  this,  I  sure  didn't!  I 
never  thought  you'd  want  me." 

"We  couldn't  do  without  you,  kiddo,"  said 
Roy,  as  he  paddled.  "We  wouldn't  have  any  luck 
— you're  our  lucky  penny." 

"Cracky,  you  could  have  knocked  me  down 
with  a  feather  when  I  got  that  note.  At  first,  I 
thought  you  must  be  jollying  me — and  even  now 
it  doesn't  seem  real." 


4o     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

The  boys  laughed.  "Well,  here  you  are, 
kiddo,"  said  Roy,  "so  you  see  it's  real  enough." 

"Do  you  suppose  we'll  have  any  adventures?" 

"Why,  as  the  little  boy  said  when  he  spilled  the 
ink  on  the  parlor  carpet,  'that  remains  to  be  seen.' 
We  won't  side-step  any,  you  can  be  sure  of  that." 

"There  may  be  danger  awaiting  us,"  said  Pee- 
wee. 

"Well,  I  only  hope  it'll  wait  till  we  get  to  it," 
Roy  laughed.  "What  do  you  say,  kiddo,  shall 
we  hit  it  up  for  Nyack  to-night  or  camp  along 
the  river?" 

They  decided  to  paddle  leisurely,  ending  their 
canoe  trip  next  day.  About  dusk  they  made  their 
camp  on  a  steep,  wooded  shore,  and  with  the 
flame  of  their  camp-fire  reflected  in  the  rippling 
water,  Roy  cooked  supper. 

Pee-wee  was  supremely  happy.  It  is  doubtful 
if  he  had  ever  before  been  so  happy. 

"There's  one  thing,"  said  Tom-  as  he  held  the 
bacon  over  the  flame.  "I'm  going  to  do  my  first- 
class  stunts  before  we  get  there." 

"And  I'm  going  to  do  some  tracking,"  said 
Roy;  "here  you  go,  Pee-wee,  here's  a  bacon  sand- 
wich— look  out  for  the  juice.  This  is  what  Daniel 
Boone  used  to  eat."     He  handed  Pee-wee  a  siz- 


FIRST  COUP  OF  THE  MASCOT      41 

zling  slice  of  bacon  between  two  cakes  of  sweet 
chocolate ! 

"Mmmmmmm,"  said  Pee-wee,  "that's  scrump- 
tious !  Gee,  I  never  knew  chocolate  and  bacon 
went  so  good  together." 

"To-morrow  for  breakfast  I'll  give  you  a  boiled 
egg  stuffed  with  caraway  seeds,"  said  Roy. 

"Give  him  a  Dan  Beard  omelet,"  said  Tom. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Pee-wee,  his  two  hands 
and  his  mouth  running  with  greasy  chocolate. 

"Salt  codfish  with  whipped  cream,"  answered 
Roy.     "Think  you'd  like  it?" 

Pee-wee  felt  sure  he  would. 

"And  there's  one  thing  I'm  going  to  do,"  he 
said.  "Tom's  going  to  finish  his  first-class  stunts 
and  you're  going  to  do  tracking.  I'm  going 
to " 

"Have   another   sandwich?"    interrupted   Roy. 

"Sure.  And  there's  one  thing  I'm  going  to  do. 
I'm  going  to  test  some  good  turns.  Gee,  there 
isn't  room  enough  to  test  'em  indoors." 

"Good  for  you,"  said  Roy;  "but  you'd  better 
trot  down  to  the  river  now  and  wash  your  face. 
You  look  like  the  end  man  in  a  minstrel  show. 
Then  come  on  back  and  we'll  reel  off  some  camp- 
fire  yarns." 


42     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

They  sat  late  into  the  night,  until  their  fire 
burned  low  and  Roy  realized,  as  he  had  never  be- 
fore realized,  what  good  company  Pee-wee  was. 
They  slept  as  only  those  know  how  to  sleep  who 
go  camping,  and  early  in  the  morning  continued 
their  journey  along  the  upper  and  tortuous  reaches 
of  the  narrowing  river. 

Early  in  the  spring  there  had  been  a  serious 
flood  which  had  done  much  damage  even  down 
in  Bridgeboro,  and  the  three  boys  as  they  pad- 
dled carefully  along  were  surprised  at  the  havoc 
which  had  been  wrought  here  on  the  upper  river. 
Small  buildings  along  the  shore  lay  toppled  over, 
boats  were  here  and  there  marooned  high  and 
dry  many  yards  from  the  shore,  and  the  river 
was  almost  impassable  in  places  from  the  obstruc- 
tions of  uprooted  trees  and  other  debris. 

At  about  noon  they  reached  a  point  where  the 
stream  petered  out  so  that  further  navigation 
even  by  canoe  was  impossible;  but  they  were 
already  in  the  outskirts  of  West  Nyack. 

"The  next  number  on  the  program,"  said  Roy, 
"is  to  administer  first  aid  to  the  canoe  in  the  form 
of  a  burlap  bandage.  Pee-wee,  you're  appointed 
chairman  of  the  grass  committee — pick  some 
grass  and  let's  pad  her  up." 


FIRST  COUP  OF  THE  MASCOT      43 

If  you  have  never  administered  "first  aid"  to  a 
canoe  and  "padded  it  up"  for  shipment,  let  me 
tell  you  that  the  scout  way  of  doing  it  is  to  bind 
burlap  loosely  around  it  and  to  stuff  this  with 
grass  or  hay  so  that  the  iron  hook  which  is  so 
gently  wielded  by  the  expressman  may  not  damage 
the  hull. 

Having  thus  prepared  it  for  its  more  prosaic 
return  journey  by  train,  they  left  the  boat  on  the 
shore  and  following  a  beaten  path  came  presently 
into  the  very  heart  of  the  thriving  metropolis  of 
West  Nyack. 

"I  feel  as  if  we  were  Lewis  and  Clarke,  or 
somebody,  arriving  at  an  Indian  village,"  said 
Pee-wee. 

At  the  express  office  Roy  arranged  for  the 
shipment  of  the  canoe  back  to  Bridgeboro,  and 
then  they  started  along  the  road  toward  Nyack. 
It  was  on  this  part  of  their  journey  that  something 
happened  which  was  destined  materially  to  alter 
their  program. 

They  had  come  into  the  main  street  of  the  vil- 
lage and  were  heading  for  the  road  which  led  to 
the  Hudson  when  they  came  upon  a  little  group  of 
people  looking  amusedly  up  into  an  elm  tree  on 
the  lawn  of  a  stately  residence.     A  little  girl  was 


44    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

standing  beneath  the  tree  in  evident  distress,  oc- 
casionally wringing  her  hands  as  she  looked  fear- 
fully up  into  the  branches.  Whatever  was  hap- 
pening there  was  no  joke  to  her,  however  funny 
it  might  be  to  the  other  onlookers. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Tom  asked. 

"Bird  up  there,"  briefly  answered  the  nearest 
bystander. 

"She'll  never  get  it,"  said  another. 

"Oh,  now  he's  going  away,"  cried  the  little  girl 
in  despair. 

The  contrast  between  her  anxiety  and  the 
amusement  of  the  others  was  marked.  Every 
time  she  called  to  the  bird  it  flitted  to  another 
limb,  and  every  time  the  bird  flitted  she  wrung 
her  hands  and  cried.  An  empty  cage  upon  a  lawn 
bench  told  the  story. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  Pee-wee,  going  to 
the  child  and  seeking  his  information  first-hand. 

"Oh,  I'll  never  get  him,"  she  sobbed.  "He'll 
fly  away  in  a  minute  and  I'll  never  see  him  again." 

Pee-wee  looked  up  into  the  branches  and  after 
some  difficulty  succeeded  in  locating  a  little  bird 
somewhat  smaller  than  a  robin  and  as  green  as 
the  foliage  amid  which  it  was  so  heedlessly  dis- 
porting. 


FIRST  COUP  OF  THE  MASCOT      45 

"I  see  him,"  said  Pee-wee.  "Gee,  don't  you 
cry;  we'll  get  him  some  way.  We're  scouts,  we 
are,  and  we'll  get  him  for  you." 

His  reassuring  words  did  not  seem  to  comfort 
the  girl.  "Oh,  there  he  goes!"  she  cried.  "Now 
he's  going  to  fly  away!" 

He  did  not  fly  away  but  merely  flew  to  another 
limb  and  began  to  preen  himself.  For  so  small  a 
bird  he  was  attracting  a  great  deal  of  notice  in 
the  world.  Following  Pee-wee's  lead,  others  in- 
cluding Tom  and  Roy  ventured  upon  the  lawn, 
smiling  and  straining  their  eyes  to  follow  the  tan- 
talizing movements  of  the  little  fugitive. 

"Of  course,"  said  Pee-wee  to  the  girl,  "it  would 
be  easy  enough  to  shin  up  that  tree — that  would 
be  a  cinch — anybody  could  do  that — I  mean  any 
feller — of  course,  a  girl  couldn't;  but  I'd  only 
frighten  him  away." 

"You'll  never  get  him,"  said  one  man. 

"What  kind  of  a  bird  is  it?"  Tom  asked. 

"It's  a  dwarf  parrot,"  the  girl  sobbed,  "and  I'll 
•never  get  him — never!" 

"You  don't  want  to  get  discouraged,"  said  Pee- 
wee.     "Gee,  there's  always  some  way." 

The  spectators  evidently  did  not  agree  with 
him.      Some   of  them   remained   about,   smiling; 


46      TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

others  went  away.  The  diminutive  Pee-wee 
seemed  to  amuse  them  quite  as  much  as  the  dimin- 
utive parrot,  but  all  were  agreed  (as  they  con- 
tinually remarked  to  each  other)  that  the  bird 
was  a  "goner." 

"Is  he  tame?"  Roy  asked. 

"He  was  getting  tame,"  the  girl  sobbed,  "and 
he  was  learning  to  say  my  name.  My  father 
would  give  a  hundred  dollars — Oh,"  she  broke 
off,  "now  he  is  going  away!"  She  began  to  cry 
pitifully. 

Pee-wee  stood  a  moment  thoughtfully.  "Have 
you  got  a  garden  hose?"  he  presently  asked. 

"Yes,  but  you're  not  going  to  squirt  water  at 
him,"  said  the  girl,  indignantly. 

"If  you  get  the  garden  hose,"  said  Pee-wee, 
"I'll  bring  him  down  for  3/ou." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  kiddo?"  Roy 
asked. 

"You'll  see,"  said  Pee-wee. 

The  other  boys  looked  at  each  other,  puzzled. 
The  girl  looked  half  incredulously  at  Pee-wee 
and  something  in  his  manner  gave  her  a  feeling 
of  hope.  Most  of  the  others  laughed  good- 
humor  edly. 

They  hauled  the  nozzle  end  of  a  garden  hose 


FIRST  COUP  OF  THE  MASCOT      47 

from  where  it  lay  coiled  near  a  faucet  in  the  stone 
foundation.  Pee-wee  took  the  nozzle  and  began 
to  play  the  stream  against  the  trunk  of  the  tree, 
all  the  while  looking  up  at  the  parrot.  Presently, 
the  bird  began  to  "sit  up  and  take  notice,"  as 
one  might  say.  It  was  plainly  interested.  The 
bystanders  began  to  "sit  up  and  take  notice"  too, 
and  they  watched  the  bird  intently  as  it  cocked  its 
head  and  listened.  Pee-wee  sent  the  stream  a 
little  higher  up  the  trunk  and  as  he  did  so  the 
bird  became  greatly  excited.  It  began  uttering, 
in  the  modulated  form  consonant  with  its  size,  the 
discordant  squawk  of  the  parrot.  The  little  girl 
watched  eagerly. 

"Get  the  cage,"  ordered  Pee-wee. 

Roy  brought  it  and  laid  it  at  his  feet.  The 
stream  played  a  little  higher,  and  the  bird  chat- 
tered furiously  and  came  lower. 

"Remind  you  of  home?"  Pee-wee  asked,  look- 
ing up  and  playing  the  water  a  little  higher.  The 
bystanders  watched,  in  silence.  The  bird  was  now 
upon  the  lowest  branch,  chattering  like  mad  and 
flapping  its  wings  frantically.  The  little  girl,  in 
an  ecstasy  of  fresh  hope,  called  to  it  and  danced 
up  and  down. 

But  Pee-wee,  like  a  true  artist,  neither  saw  nor 


48    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

heard  his  audience.  He  was  playing  the  bird 
with  this  line  of  water  as  an  angler  plays  a  fish. 
And  never  was  moth  lured  by  a  flame  more  irre- 
sistably  than  this  little  green  fugitive  was  lured 
by  the  splashing  of  that  stream. 

"Oh,  can  you  catch  him?  Can  you  catch  him?" 
pleaded  the  girl  as  she  clutched  Pee-wee's  arm. 

"Let  go  a  minute,"  said  Pee-wee.  "Now,  all 
stand  back,  here  goes!" 

He  shot  the  stream  suddenly  down  at  the  base 
of  the  tree,  holding  the  nozzle  close  so  that  the 
plashing  was  loud  and  the  spray  diffused.  And 
as  an  arrow  goes  to  its  mark  the  bird  came 
swooping  down  plunk  into  the  middle  of  the 
spray  and  puddle.  Still  playing  the  stream 
with  one  hand,  Pee-wee  reached  carefully  and  with 
his  other  gently  encircled  the  little  drenched 
body. 

"Quite  an  adventure,  wasn't  it,  Greenie?"  he 
said.      "Where'd  you  think  you  were?     In  the 

tropics? If  you  ever  want  to  take  hold  of  a 

bird,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  girl,  "hold  it  this 
way;  make  a  ring  out  of  your  thumb  and  first 
finger,  and  let  his  stomach  rest  on  the  palm  of 
your  hand.  Be  sure  your  hand  isn't  cold,  though. 
Here  you  are — that's  right." 


FIRST  COUP  OF  THE  MASCOT      49 

The  girl  could  hardly  speak.  She  stood  with 
her  dwarf  parrot  in  her  hand,  looking  at  the 
stream  of  water  which  was  now  shooting  silently 
through  the  grass  and  at  the  puddle  which  it  had 
made,  and  she  felt  that  a  miracle  had  been  per- 
formed before  her  eyes.  Roy,  hardly  less  pleased 
than  she,  stepped  forward  and  turned  off  the 
water. 

"Good  work,"  said  a  gentleman.  "I've  seen 
many  a  bird  brought  down,  but  never  in  that 
fashion  before." 

"We  don't  use  the  other  fashion,"  said  Tom, 
with  a  touch  of  pride  as  he  put  his  hand  on  Pee- 
wee's  shoulder.     "Do  we,  kid?" 

"If  it  was  a  canary,"  said  Pee-wee,  "I  might 
possibly  have  whistled  him  down,  but  not  near 
enough  to  catch  him,  I  guess.  But  as  soon  as  I 
knew  that  bird  came  from  the  tropics,  I  knew  he'd 
fall  for  water,  'cause  a  tropical  bird'll  go  where 
the  sound  of  water  is  every  time.  I  guess  it's 
because  they  have  so  many  showers  down  there, 
or  something.  Then  once  I  heard  that  it's  best 
to  turn  on  the  faucet  when  you're  teaching  a  par- 
rot to  talk.  It's  the  sound  of  water.  Did  you 
get  any  water  on  you?"  he  asked,  suddenly  turn- 
ing to  the  child. 


50    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

There  was  no  water  on  her  clothing,  but  there 
was  some  in  her  eyes. 

"I — I — think  you're  wonderful,"  she  said.  "I 
think  you  are  just  wonderful!" 

"  'Twasn't  rne,"  said  Pee-wee,  "it  was  the  wa- 
ter. Gee,"  he  added  confidentially,  "I  often  said 
I  hated  water,  and  I  do  hate  a  rainy  day.  And  if 
you  get  any  water  in  a  carbureter — goo-od-night! 
But  I  got  to  admit  water's  good  for  some  things." 

"Oh,  I  want  you  please  to  wait — just  a  few 
minutes — I  want  to  go  and  speak  to  my  father," 
the  girl  said,  as  the  boys  started  to  move  away. 
They  were  the  only  ones  left  now.  "Please  wait 
just  a  minute." 

"We're  on  our  way  to  Nyack,"  said  Roy,  sus- 
pecting her  intention,  "and  I'm  afraid  we've  lost 
as  much  time  as  we  dare.  We've  got  to  do  a  little 
shopping  there  and  our  weather  prophet  here 
thinks  we're  going  to  have  a  real  tropical  shower 
before  long." 

"But  won't  you  let  my  father  give  you  each — 
something?  You've  been  so  good  and  it's — oh — 
it's  just  wonderful!" 

"Pee-wee,  you're  the  doctor,"  said  Roy. 

"I  got  to  do  a  good  turn  every  day,"  said  the 
"doctor,"   "because  we're  scouts  and  that's  the 


FIRST  COUP  OF  THE  MASCOT      51 

rule.  If  we  took  anything  for  it,  why,  then  it 
wouldn't  be  a  good  turn.  It  would  spoil  all  the 
fun.  We're  going  on  a  long  hike,  up  the  Hudson 
to  our  camp.  We  don't  want  to  go  near  railroad 
trains — and  things  like  that.  These  fellows  are 
taking  me  with  them;  that's  a  good  turn,  but  if 
somebody  paid  'em  to  do  it,  it  wouldn't  be  a  good 
turn,  would  it?  I'm  thankful  to  you  and  your 
parrot  that  you  gave  me  the  chance.  Now  I  don't 
have  to  think  of  a  good  turn  again  till  tomorrow. 
Besides  I  just  happened  to  know  about  parrots 
and  water  so  it's  no  credit  to  me." 

That  was  it — he  just  happened  to  know!  It 
was  one  of  the  dozens  of  things  that  he  "just  hap- 
pened to  know."  How  he  came  by  the  knowledge 
was  a  mystery.  But  perhaps  the  best  thing  he 
knew  was  that  a  service  is  a  service  and  that  you 
knock  it  in  the  head  as  soon  as  you  take  payment 
for  it. 

The  girl  watched  them,  as  they  jumped  the 
hedge,  laughing  gaily  at  Pee-wee's  clumsiness 
and,  waving  their  hats  to  her,  took  their  belated 
way  along  the  road. 

It  was  not  the  most  popular  way  of  bringing 
down  a  bird,  but  there  was  no  blood  on  Pee-wee's 
hands,  and  it  was  a  pretty  good  stunt  at  that! 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  SHELTER 

"Pee-wee,  you're  a  wonder,"  said  Roy. 
"You're  the  only  original  Boy  Scout;  how  did 
you  get  next  to  that  stunt?  What  do  you  think 
of  him,  Tom?" 

"Some  wrinkle,"  said  Tom. 

"Crinkums  !"  said  Pee-wee.  "I'm  mighty  glad 
I  got  him.  If  it  hadn't  succeeded  I'd  have  felt 
cheap,  sure;  but  when  you're  dealing  with  a  girl, 
you  always  want  to  act  as  if  you're  sure  of  your- 
self.   Do  you  know  why?" 

"Can't  imagine,"  said  Roy.  "Break  it  to  us 
gently." 

"Because  girls  are  never  sure  of  themselves 
and  they'll  never  take  much  stock  in  what  you 
say  unless  you  seem  to  be  sure  of  yourself.  That's 
one  thing  I've  noticed.  I've  made  a  study  of  girls, 

kind  of And  you're  more  apt  to  succeed  if 

there's  a  girl  watching  you — did  you  ever  notice 

that?" 

52 


THE  SHELTER  53 

Roy  laughed. 

"It's  so,"  urged  Pee-wee.  "And  there's  an- 
other thing  about  girls,  too;  they're  repulsive." 

"What?"  said  Tom. 

'What?"  said  Roy. 

"They  say  the  first  thing  that  comes  into  their 
heads." 

"/wzpulsive,  you  mean,"  laughed  Roy. 

"Well,  they're  all  right  on  good  turns,"  said 
Tom. 

"They  don't  have  any  good  turns  in  the  Camp 
Fire  Girls,"  said  Pee-wee. 

"A  girl  might  do  a  good  turn  and  you'd  never 
know  anything  about  it,"  said  Tom,  significantly. 

"Cracky,"  said  Pee-wee,  "she  was  tickled  to 
get  that  bird  back." 

In  a  little  while  they  were  tramping  along  the 
main  street  of  Nyack,  heading  for  the  lordly 
Hudson.  It  was  almost  twilight,  the  shops  were 
shutting  their  doors,  and  as  they  came  around  the 
hill  which  brought  them  face  to  face  with  the 
river,  the  first  crimson  glow  of  sunset  fell  upon 
the  rippling  current.  Across  the  wide  expanse, 
which  seemed  the  wider  for  the  little  winding 
stream  they  had  so  lately  followed,  the  hills  were 
already   turning   from   green   to   gray    and   tiny 


54    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

lights  were  visible  upon  the  rugged  heights.  A 
great  white  steamer  with  its  light  already  burning 
was  plowing  majestically  up-stream  and  the  little 
open  craft  at  the  shore  rocked  in  the  diminishing 
ripples  which  it  sent  across  the  water,  as  though 
bowing  in  humble  obeisance  to  it. 

"Gee,  it's  lonely,  isn't  it!"  said  Pee-wee. 

"Not  getting  homesick,  are  you,  kiddo?" 

"No,  but  it  seems  kind  of  lonesome.  I'm  glad 
there's  three  of  us.  Oh,  jiminy,  look  at  those 
hills." 

The  scene  was  indeed  such  as  to  make  the 
mightiest  man  feel  insignificant. 

The  map  showed  a  road  which  led  to  Haver- 
straw,  and  this  the  boys  decided  to  follow  until 
they  should  find  a  convenient  spot  in  which  to 
bivouac  for  the  night.  It  followed  the  Hudson, 
sometimes  running  along  the  very  brink  with  the 
mighty  highlands  rising  above  it  and  sometimes 
running  between  hills  which  shut  the  river  from 
their  view. 

"Hark,"  said  Tom.  "What  did  I  tell  you! 
Thunder!" 

A  low,  distant  rumble  sounded,  and  as  they 
paused  in  the  gathering  darkness,  listening,  a  little 
fitful  gust  blew  Pee-wee's  hat  off. 


THE  SHELTER  55 

"We're  going  to  get  a  good  dose  of  it,"  said 
Tom.  "I've  been  smelling  it  for  the  last  hour; 
look  at  those  trees." 

The  leaves  were  blowing  this  way  and 
that. 

"We  should  worry,"  said  Roy.  "Didn't  I  tell 
you  we  might  have  to  get  our  feet  wet?  This  is 
a  risky  bus " 

"Shut  up !"  said  Pee-wee. 

They  had  walked  not  more  than  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  more  when  they  came  upon  a  stretch  of 
road  which  was  very  muddy,  with  a  piece  of  low- 
land bordering  it.  It  was  too  dark  to  see  clearly, 
but  in  the  last  remnant  of  daylight  the  boys  could 
just  distinguish  a  small,  peculiar  looking  struc- 
ture in  the  middle  of  this  vast  area. 

"That's  a  funny  place  to  build  a  house,"  said 
Roy. 

"Maybe  it's  a  fisherman's  shack,"  Tom  sug- 
gested. 

Whatever  it  was,  it  was  a  most  isolated  and 
lonesome  habitation,  standing  in  the  centre  of 
that  desert  flat,  shut  in  by  the  precipitous  hills. 

"It  would  be  a  good  place  for  a  hermit,"  said 
Roy.  "You  don't  suppose  anyone  lives  there,  do 
you?" 


56    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"Cracky,  wouldn't  you  like  to  be  a  hermit!  Do 
you  know  what  I'd  like  to  have  now " 

"An  umbrella,"  interrupted  Tom. 

The  remark,  notwithstanding  that  it  shocked 
Pee-wee's  sense  of  fitness,  inasmuch  as  they  were 
scouting  and  "roughing  it,"  was  not  inappropri- 
ate, for  even  as  Tom  spoke  the  patter  of  great 
drops  was  heard. 

"Maybe  it's  been  raining  here  this  afternoon," 
observed  Tom,  "and  that's  what  makes  all  this 
mud." 

"Well,  it's  certainly  raining  here  now,"  said 
Roy.    "Me  for  that  shack !" 

The  rain  suddenly  came  down  in  torrents  and 
the  boys  turned  up  their  collars  and  made  a  dash 
across  the  marshy  land  toward  the  shadowy 
structure.  Roy  reached  it  first  and,  turning, 
called:     "Hey,  fellows,  it's  a  boat!" 

The  others,  drenched,  but  laughing,  followed 
him,  scrambling  upon  the  deck  and  over  the  comb- 
ing into  the  cockpit  of  a  dilapidated  cabin  launch. 

"What  do  you  know  about  that!"  said  Roy. 
"Strike  a  light  and  let's  see  where  we're  at.  I 
feel  like  a  wet  dish  rag." 

Presently  Pee-wee's  flashlight  was  poking  its 
bright  shaft  this  way  and  that  as  they  looked  curi- 


THE  SHELTER  57 

ously  about  them.  They  were.in  a  neglected  and 
disheveled,  but  very  cosy,  little  cabin  with  sleep- 
ing lockers  on  either  side  and  chintz  curtains  at 
the  tiny  portholes.  A  two-cylinder  engine,  so 
rusted  that  the  wheel  wouldn't  turn  over!  and 
otherwise  in  a  dubious  condition,  was  ineffectually 
covered  by  a  piece  of  stiff  and  rotten  oil  cloth,  the 
floor  was  cluttered  with  junk,  industrious  spiders 
had  woven  their  webs  all  about  and  a  frantic  scur- 
rying sound  told  of  the  hurried  departure  of  some 
little  animal  which  had  evidently  made  its  home 
in  the  forsaken  hull. 

"Oh,  but  this  is  great!"  enthused  Pee-wee. 
"This  is  the  kind  of  an  adventure  you  read  about; 
now  our  adventures  have  really  started." 

"It'll  be  more  to  the  purpose  if  we  can  get  our 
supper  really  started,"  said  Roy. 

"How  do  you  suppose  it  got  here?"  Pee-wee 
asked. 

"That's  easy,"  said  Tom.  "I  didn't  realize  it 
before,  but  the  tide  must  come  up  over  the  road 
sometimes  and  flood  all  this  land  here.  That's 
what  makes  the  road  muddy.  There  must  have 
been  a  good  high  tide  some  time  or  other,  and  it 
brought  the  boat  right  up  over  the  road  and  here 
it  is,  marooned." 


58     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"Maybe  it  was  the  same  flood  that  did  all  the 
damage  down  our  way,"  Roy  said.  "Well,  here 
goes;  get  the  things  out,  Pee-wee,  and  we'll  have 
some  eats.     Gee,  it's  nice  in  here." 

It  was  nice.  The  rain  pattered  down  on  the 
low  roof  and  beat  against  the  little  ports ;  the  boat 
swayed  a  little  in  the  heavier  gusts  of  wind  and 
all  the  delightful  accompaniments  of  a  life  on  the 
ocean  wave  were  present — except  the  peril. 

"You  get  out  the  cooking  things,"  said  Roy, 
"while  I  take  a  squint  around  and  see  if  I  can  find 
something  to  kindle  a  fire  in." 

He  did  not  have  to  go  far.  Sliding  open  the 
little  hatch,  he  emerged  into  the  cockpit,  where 
the  wind  and  rain  smote  him  mercilessly.  The 
storm  had  grown  into  a  tempest  and  Roy  won- 
dered how  it  would  be  out  on  the  wide  river  on 
such  a  night.  In  the  cockpit  was  nothing  but  the 
shredded  remnant  of  a  sun  awning  and  a  couple 
of  camp  chairs,  but  a  few  feet  from  the  boat 
something  on  the  mushy  ground  cast  a  faint  glim- 
mer, and  on  going  to  it  he  found  it  to  be  a  battered 
five-gallon  gasoline  can,  which  he  brought  back  in 
triumph.  By  this  time  Tom  and  Pee-wee  had  the 
camp  lamp  burning  and  the  supper  things  laid  out. 
It  was  a  very  cosy  scene. 


THE  SHELTER  59 

"See  if  there's  a  Stillson  wrench  in  that  iocker," 
said  Roy. 

Among  the  rusted  tools  was  a  "Stillson,"  and 
with  this  Roy  disconnected  the  exhaust  pipe  from 
the  engine.  He  next  partly  "jabbed"  and  partly 
cut  a  hole  in  the  gasoline  can  of  about  the  circum- 
ference of  the  pipe.  A  larger  hole  in  the  side  of 
the  can  sufficed  for  a  door  and  he  squeezed  the 
end  of  the  exhaust  pipe  into  the  hole  he  had  made 
for  it,  and  presto !  there  was  a  very  serviceable 
makeshift  stove  with  the  exhaust  system  of  the 
engine  converted  into  a  draught  and  chimney. 

"The  new  patent  Silver  Fox  cooking  stove/" 
said  Roy.  "A  scout  is  resourceful.  This  beats 
trying  to  kindle  a  fire  outside,  a  night  like  this, 
Chuck  that  piece  of  wood  over  here." 

There  was  an  old  battery  box  knocking  about 
and  this  Roy  whittled  into  shavings,  while  the 
others  with  their  belt  axes  completed  the  ruin  of 
the  awning  stanchions  by  chopping  them  into 
pieces  a  few  inches  long. 

"Guess  they  weren't  good  for  much,"  observed 
Tom. 

"Oh,"  said  Pee-wee,  "I'd  just  like  to  live  in 
this  boat." 

It  was  no  wonder  he  felt  so.     With  the  fire 


•5o    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

burning  brightly  in  the  old  can  and  sending  its 
smoke  out  through  the  boat's  exhaust,  the  smell 
of  the  bacon  cooking,  the  sight  of  their  outer  gar- 
ments drying  in  the  cheery  warmth,  while  the 
wind  howled  outside  and  the  rain  beat  down  upon 
the  low  roof  the  situation  was  not  half  bad  and 
an  occasional  lurch  of  the  old  hull  gave  a  peculiar 
charm  to  their  odd  refuge. 

"Could  you  dally  with  a  rice  cake,  kiddo?" 
asked  Roy,  as  he  deftly  stirred  up  some  rice  and 
batter.  "Sling  me  that  egg  powder,  Tom,  and 
give  me  something  to  stir  with — not  that,  you 
gump,  that's  the  fever  thermometer!" 

"Here's  a  fountain  pen,"  said  Pee-wee;  "will 
that  do?" 

"This  screw-driver  will  be  better,"  said  Roy. 
"Here,  kiddo,  make  yourself  useful  and  keep 
turning  that  in  the  pan.  You're  a  specialist  on 
good  turns." 

Pee-wee  stirred,  while  Tom  attended  to  the  fire, 
and  Roy  to  the  cooking.  And  I  might  mention 
on  the  side  that  if  you  should  happen  to  be  ma- 
rooned in  a  disused  boat  on  a  blustering  night, 
and  are  ingenious  enough  (as  Roy  was)  to  con- 
trive the  cooking  facilities,  you  cannot  do  better 
than  flop  a  few  rice  cakes,  watching  carefully  that 


THE  SHELTER  61 

they  don't  burn.  You  can  flop  them  with  a  shoe 
horn  if  you've  nothing  better  at  hand. 

They  spread  their  balloon  silk  tent  in  the  cock- 
pit, lidding  fast  to  the  corners  until  enough  water 
had  fallen  into  it  to  fill  the  coffee-pot,  and  they 
had  three  such  cups  of  coffee  as  you  never  fancied 
in  your  fondest  dreams. 

For  dessert  they  had  "Silver  Fox  Slump,"  an 
invention  of  Roy's  made  with  chocolate,  honey 
and,  I  think,  horse-radish.  It  has  to  be  stirred 
thoroughly.  Pee-wee  declared  that  it  was  such  a 
table  d'hote  dinner  as  he  had  never  before  tasted. 
He  was  always  partial  to  the  scout  style  of  cook- 
ing and  he  added,  "You  know  how  they  have  mu- 
sic at  table  d'hote  dinners.  Well,  this  music's  got 
it  beat,  that's  one  sure  thing.  Gee,  I'll  hate  to 
leave  the  boat,  I  sure  will." 

The  boisterous  music  gave  very  little  prospect 
of  ceasing,  and  after  the  three  had  talked  for  an 
hour  or  so,  they  settled  down  for  the  night,  two 
on  the  lockers  and  one  on  the  floor,  with  the  wind 
still  moaning  and  the  rain  coming  down  in  tor- 
rents. 

When  they  awoke  in  the  morning  the  wind  had 
died  down  somewhat,  but  it  still  blew  fitfully  out 
of  the  east  and  the  rain  had  settled  down  into  a 


62     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

steady  drizzle.  Tom  ventured  out  into  the  cock- 
pit and  looked  about  him.  The  hills  across  the 
river  were  gray  in  the  mist  and  the  wide  expanse 
of  water  was  steel  color.  He  could  see  now  that 
there  was  another  road  close  under  the  precip- 
itous cliffs  and  that  the  one  which  divided  this 
lowland  from  the  river  was  almost  awash. 
Through  the  mist  and  drizzle  along  this  higher 
road  came  a  man.  He  left  the  road  and  started 
to  pick  his  way  across  the  flat,  hailing  as  he 
came.  The  three  boys  awaited  him  in  the  cock- 
pit. 

"Don't  nobody  leave  that  boat!"  he  called,  "or 
I'll  shoot." 

"Dearie  me,"  said  Roy.  "He  seems  to  be 
peeved.    What  are  we  up  against,  anyway?" 

"Don't  shoot,  mister,"  called  Tom.  "You 
couldn't  drag  us  out  of  here  with  a  team  of 
horses." 

"Tell  him  we  are  Boy  Scouts  and  fear  naught," 
whispered  Pee-wee.  "Tell  him  we  scorn  his — er 
— what  d'you  call  it?" 

"Hey,  mister,"  called  Roy.  "We  are  Boy 
Scouts  and  fear  naught,  and  we  scorn  your  what- 
d'you-call  it." 

"Haouw?"  called  the  man. 


THE  SHELTER  63 

"What's  that  he's  got  on?"  said  Tom,  "a  merit 
badge?" 

"It's  a  cop's  badge,"  whispered  Pee-wee.  "Ohj 
crinkums,  we're  pinched." 

The  man  approached,  dripping  and  breathing 
heavily,  and  placed  his  hands  on  the  combing. 

"Anybody  here  'sides  you  youngsters?"  he  de» 
manded,  at  the  same  time  peering  inside  the  cabin. 

"A  few  spiders,"  said  Tom. 

"Whatcher  doin'  here,  anyway?" 

"We're  waiting  for  the  storm  to  hold  up,"  said 
Roy;  "we  beat  it  from  that  road  when " 

"We  sought  refuge,"  Pee-wee  prompted  him. 

"Any  port  in  a  storm,  you  know,"  Roy  smiled. 
"Are  we  pinched?" 

The  man  did  not  vouchsafe  an  immediate  an- 
swer to  this  vital  query.  Instead  he  poked  his 
head  in,  peered  about  and  then  said,  "Don* 
know's  ye  are,  not  fur's  I'm  concerned.  I'd  like 
to  hev  ye  answer  me  one  question  honest,  though." 

"You'll  have  to  answer  one  for  us  first,"  called 
Roy,  who  had  disappeared  within  the  little  cabin. 
"Do  you  take  two  lumps  of  sugar  in  your  coffee?" 

The  man  now  condescended  to  smile,  as  Roy 
brought  out  a  steaming  cup  and  handed  it  to 
him. 


64    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"Wall,  ye've  got  all  the  comforts  uv  home, 
ain't  ye?" 

"Give  him  a  rice  cake,"  whispered  Pee-wee  in 
Roy's  ear.     "He's  all  right." 

"Won't  you  come  in?"  said  Roy.  "I  don't 
know  whose  boat  this  is,  but  you're  welcome.  I 
guess  we  didn't  do  any  damage.  We  chopped  up 
a  couple  of  broken  stanchions,  that's  all." 

"I  guess  we'll  let  ye  off  without  more'n  ten 
year  uv  hard  labor,"  said  the  man,  sipping  his 
coffee.  "But  I'll  give  ye  a  tip.  Get  away  from 
here  as  soon's  ye  can, — hear?  Old  man  Stanton 
owns  this  boat  an'  he's  a  bear.  He'd  run  ye  in 
fer  trespass  and  choppin'  up  them  stanchions 
quick  as  a  gun.  Ye  come  off'n  that  outer  road, 
ye  say?     Strangers  here?" 

"I  can  see  now  that  road  is  flooded,"  said  Tom. 
"Guess  it  isn't  used,  is  it?" 

"This  is  all  river  land,"  said  the  man.  "In 
extra  high  tides  this  here  land  is  flooded  an'  the 
only  ones  usin'  that  thar  road  is  the  fishes.  This 
rain  keeps  up  another  couple  of  days  an'  we  get  a 
full  moon  on  top  o'  that  the  old  hulk'll  float,  by 
gol !  Ye  didn't  see  no  men  around  here  last  night 
now,  did  ye?" 

"Not  a  soul,"  said  Roy. 


THE  SHELTER  65 

"  'Cause  there  was  a  prisoner  escaped  up  yon- 
der last  night  an'  when  I  see  the  smoke  comin' 
out  o'  yer  flue  contraption  here  I  thought  like 
enough  he  hit  this  shelter." 

"Up  yonder?"  Tom  queried. 

"You're  strangers,  hey?"  the  man  repeated. 

"We're  on  a  hike,"  said  Tom.  "We're  on  our 
way  to  Haverstraw  and " 

"Thence,"  prompted  Pee-wee. 

"Thence  to  Catskill  Landing,  and  thence  to 
Leeds  and  thence  to  Black  Lake,"  mocked  Roy. 

"Well,  thar's  a  big  prison  up  yonder,"  said  the 
man. 

"Oh,  Sing  Sing?"  Roy  asked.  "I  never  thought 
of  that." 

"Feller  scaled  the  wall  last  night  an'  made  off 
in  a  boat." 

The  boys  were  silent.  They  had  not  realized 
how  close  they  were  to  Ossining,  and  the  thought 
of  the  great  prison  whose  name  they  had  often 
heard  mentioned  sobered  them  a  little;  the  mere 
suggestion  of  one  of  its  inmates  scaling  its  frown- 
ing wall  on  such  a  night  and  setting  forth  in  an 
open  boat,  perhaps  lurking  near  their  very  shelter, 
cast  a  shadow  over  them. 

"Arc  you — are  you  sure  you  didn't  see  a — a 


66    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

crouching  shadow  when  you  went  out  and  got  that 
gasoline  can  last  night?"  Pee-wee-  stammered. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Roy,  "but  I  didn't  see  one 
crouching  shadow." 

"His  boat  might  have  upset  in  the  storm,"  Tom 
suggested.  "The  wind  even  shook  this  boat;  it 
:must  have  been  pretty  rough  out  on  the  river." 

"Like  enough,"  said  the  man.  "Des'pret 
characters'll  take  des'pret  chances." 

"What  did  he  do?"  Pee-wee  asked,  his  imagi- 
nation thoroughly  aroused. 

"Dunno,"  said  the  man.  "Burglary,  like 
enough.  Well  now,  you  youngsters  have  had  yer 
shelter'n  the  wust  o'  the  storm's  over.  It's  goin' 
ter  keep  right  on  steady  like  this  till  after  full 
moon,  an'  the  ole  shebang'll  be  floppin'  roun'  the 
marsh  like  enough  on  full  moon  tide.  My  advice 
to  you  is  to  git  along.  Not  that  you  done  no 
damage  or  what  I'd  call  damage — but  it  won't 
do  no  good  fer  yer  to  run  amuck  o'  Ole  Man 
Stanton.  'Cause  he's  a  reg'lar  grizzly,  as  the  fel- 
ier  says. 

The  boys  were  silent  a  moment.  Perhaps  the 
thought  of  that  desperate  convict  stealing  forth 
amid  the  wind  and  rain  still  gripped  them;  but 
it  began  to  dawn  upon  them  also  that  they  had 


THE  SHELTER  67 

been  trespassing  and  that  they  had  taken  great 
liberties  with  this  ramshackle  boat. 

That  the  owner  could  object  to  their  use  of  it 
seemed  preposterous.  That  he  could  take  advan- 
tage of  the  technical  "damage"  done  was  quite 
unsupposable.  But  no  one  knows  better  than  a 
boy  how  many  "grouchy"  men  there  are  in  the 
world,  and  these  very  boys  had  once  been  ordered 
out  of  John  Temple's  lot  with  threat  and  menace. 

"Does  everybody  call  him  'Old  Man'  Stan- 
ton?" Pee-wee  asked.  "Because  if  they  do  that's 
pretty  bad.  Whenever  somebody  is  known  as 
'Old  Man'  it  sounds  pretty  bad  for  him.  They 
used  to  say  'Old  Man  Temple' — he's  a  man  we 
know  that  owns  a  lot  of  railroads  and  things; 
of  course,  he's  reformed  now — he's  a  mag- 
net  " 

"Magnate,"  corrected  Roy. 

"But  they  used  to  call  him  'Old  Man  Temple' 
— everybody  did.  And  it's  a  sure  sign — you  can 
always  tell,"  Pee-wee  concluded. 

"Wall,  they  call  me  'Ole  Man  Flint/  "  said 
the  visitor,  "so  I  guess " 

"Oh,  of  course,"  said  Pee-wee,  hastily,  "I  don't 
say  it's  always  so,  and  besides  you're  a — a " 

"Sheriff,"  Mr.  Flint  volunteered. 


68     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"So  you  got  to  be  kind  of  strict — and — and 
grouchy — like." 

The  sheriff  handed  his  empty  cup  to  Roy  and 
smiled  good-naturedly. 

"Where  does  Old  Man  Stanton  live?"  asked 
Tom,  who  had  been  silent  while  the  others  were 
talking. 

"  'Long  the  Nyack  road,  but  he  has  his  office 
in  Nyack — he's  a  lawyer,"  said  the  visitor,  as  he 
drew  his  rubber  hat  down  over  his  ears. 

"Can  we  get  back  to  Nyack  by  that  other 
road?" 

"Whatcher  goin'  to  do?" 

"We'll  have  to  go  and  see  Old  Man  Stanton," 
Tom  said,  "then  if  we  don't  get  pinched  we'll 
start  north." 

Mr.  Flint  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"I  wouldn't  say  we've  done  any  damage,"  said 
Tom  in  his  stolid  way,  "and  I  believe  in  that 
about  any  port  in  a  storm.  But  if  he's  the  kind 
of  a  man  who  would  think  different,  then  we've 
got  to  go  and  tell  him,  that's  all.  We  can  pay 
him  for  the  stanchions  we  chopped  up." 

"Wall,  you're  a  crazy  youngster,  that's  all,  but 
if  yer  sot  on  huntin'  fer  trouble,  yer  got  only  yer- 
self  to  blame.     Ye'll  go  before  a  justice  uv  the 


THE  SHELTER  69 

peace,  the  whole  three  uv  year,  and  be  fined  ten 
dollars  apiece,  likely  as  not,  an'  I  don't  believe 
ye've  got  twenty-five  dollars  between  the  lot  uv 
yer."  ' 

'"'Right  you  are,"  said  Roy.  "We  are  poor  but 
honest,  and  we  spurn — don't  we,  Pee-wee?" 

"Sure  we  do,"  agreed  Pee-wee. 

"Poverty  is  no  disgrace,"  said  Roy  dramatic- 
ally. 

The  man,  though  not  overburdened  with  a 
sense  of  humor,  could  not  help  smiling  at  Roy  and 
he  went  away  laughing,  but  scarcely  crediting 
their  purpose  to  venture  into  the  den  of  "Old 
Man  Stanton."  "They're  a  queer  let,"  he  said 
to  himself. 

Within  a  few  minutes  the  boys  had  gathered 
up  their  belongings,  repacked  their  duffel  bags 
and  were  picking  their  way  across  the  marsh  to- 
ward the  drier  road. 

"We're  likely  to  land  in  jail,"  said  Pee-wee, 
mildly  protesting. 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  whether  we  land  in  jail 
or  not,"  said  Tom,  stolidly;  "it's  just  a  question 
of  what  we  ought  to  do." 

"We  should  worry,"  said  Roy. 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE    "GOOD   TURN" 

It  was  a  draggled  and  exceedingly  dubious- 
looking  trio  that  made  their  way  up  the  main 
street  of  Nyack.  They  had  no  difficulty  in  find- 
ing the  office  of  "Old  Man  Stanton,"  which  bore 
a  conspicuous  sign: 

Wilmouth  Stanton 
Counsellor  at  Law 

"He'd — he'd  have  to  get  out  a  warrant  for  us 
first,  wouldn't  he?"  Pee-wee  asked,  apprehen- 
sively. 

"That'll  be  easy,"  said  Roy."  "If  all  goes 
well,  I  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't  be  in  Sing  Sing 
by  three  o'clock." 

"We're  big  fools  to  do  this,"  said  Pee-wee. 
"A  scout  is  supposed  to  be — cautious."  But  he 
followed  the  others  up  the  stairs  and  stepped 
bravely  in  when  Tom  opened  the  door. 

They  found  themselves  in  the  lion's  den  with 
70 


THE  "GOOD  TURN"  71 

the  lion  in  close  proximity  glaring  upon  them.  He 
sat  at  a  desk  opening  mail  and  looked  frowningly 
at  them  over  his  spectacles.  He  was  thin  and 
wiry,  his  gray  hair  was  rumpled  in  a  way  which 
suggested  perpetual  perplexity  or  annoyance,  and 
his  general  aspect  could  not  be  said  to  be  either 
conciliatory  or  inviting. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  said,  crisply. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Stanton?"  Tom  asked.  "We 
are  Scouts,"  he  added,  as  the  gentleman  nodded 
perfunctorily,  "and  we  came  from  Bridgeboro. 
WVre  on  our  way  to  camp.  Last  night  we  got 
caught  in  the  rain  and  we  ran " 

"Took  refuge,"  whispered  Pee-wee. 

"For  that  old  boat  on  the  marsh.  This  morn- 
ing we  heard  it  was  yours,  so  we  came  to  tell  you 
that  we  camped  in  it  last  night.  We  made  a  fire 
in  a  can,  but  I  don't  think  we  did  any  harm,  ex- 
I  cept  we  chopped  up  a  couple  of  old  stanchions. 
We  thought  they  were  no  good,  but,  of  course, 
we  shouldn't  have  taken  them  without  leave." 

Mr.  Stanton  stared  at  him  with  an  ominous 
frown.  "Built  a  fire  in  a  can?"  said  he.  "Do 
you  mean  in  the  boat?" 

"We  used  the  exhaust  for  a  draught,"  said 
Roy. 


72    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"Oh — and  v/hat  brings  you  here?" 

"To  tell  you,"  said  Tom,  doggedly.  "A  man 
came  and  told  us  you  owned  the  boat.  He  said 
you  might  have  us  arrested,  so  we  came  to  let  you 
know  about  what  we  did." 

"We  didn't  come  because  we  wanted  to  be  ar- 
rested," put  in  Pee-wee. 

"I  see,"  said  Mr.  Stanton,  with  the  faintest 
suggestion  of  a  smile.  "Isn't  it  something  new," 
he  added,  "running  into  the  jaws  of  death?  Boys 
generally  run  the  other  way  and  don't  go  hunting 
for  trouble." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  how  it  is,"  said  Pee-wee, 
making  the  conversation  his  own,  somewhat  to 
Roy's  amusement.  "Of  course,  a  scout  has  got 
to  be  cautious — but  he's  got  to  be  fearless  too.  I 
was  kind  of  scared  when  I  heard  you  were  a  law- 
yer  " 

Mr.  Stanton's  grim  visage  relaxed  into  an  un- 
willing, but  unmistakable,  smile. 

"And  another  thing  I  heard  scared  me, 
but " 

Tom,  seeing  where  Pee-wee  was  drifting,  tried 
to  stop  him,  but  Roy,  knowing  that  Pee-wee 
always  managed  to  land  on  top,  and  seeing  the 
smile  on  Mr.  Stanton's  forbidding  countenance, 


THE  "GOOD  TURN"  73 

encouraged  him  to  go  on,  and  presently  the  mas- 
cot of  the  Silver  Foxes  was  holding  the  floor. 

"A  scout  has  to  deduce — that's  one  of  the 
things  we  learn,  and  if  you  heard  somebody  called 
1  'Old  Man  Something-or-other,'  why,  you'd  de- 
duce something  from  it,  wouldn't  you  ?  And  you'd 
be  kind  of  scared-like.  But  even  if  you  deduce 
that  a  man  is  going  to  be  mad  and  gruff,  kind  of, 
even  still  you  got  to  remember  that  you're  a  scout 
and  if  you  damaged  his  property  you  got  to  go  and 
tell  him,  anyway.  You  got  to  go  and  tellfhim  even 
if  you  go  to  jail.  Don't  you  see?  Maybe  you 
don't  know  much  about  the  scouts " 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Stanton,  "I'm  afraid  I  don't. 
But  I'm  glad  to  know  that  I  am  honored  by  a 
nickname — even  so  dubious  a  one.  Do  you  think 
you  were  correct  in  your  deductions?"  he  added. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  began  Pee-wee.  "I  can 
see — well,  anyway  there's  another  good  thing 
about  a  scout — he's  got  to  admit  it  if  he's  wrong." 

?  :r.  Stanton  laughed  outright.  It  was  a  rusty 
sort  of  laugh,  for  he  did  not  laugh  often — but  he 
laughed. 

"The  only  things  I  know  about  Boy  Scouts," 
said  he,  "I  have  learned  in  the  last  twenty-four 
hours.     You  tell  me  that  they  can  convert  an  ex- 


74    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

haust  pipe  into  a  stove  flue,  and  I  have  learned 
that  they  can  bring  a  bird  down  out  of  a  tree  with- 
out so  much  as  a  bullet  or  a  stone  (I  have  to  be- 
lieve what  my  little  daughter  tells  me),  and  that 
they  take  the  road  where  they  think  trouble  awaits 
them  on  account  of  a  principle — that  they  walk 
up  to  the  cannon's  mouth,  as  it  were — I  am  a 
very  busy  man  and  no  doubt  a  very  hard  and  dis- 
agreeable one,  but  I  can  afford  to  know  a  little 
more  about  these  scouts,  I  believe." 

"I'll  tell  you  all  about  them,"  said  Pee-wee,  so- 
ciably. "Jiminys,  I  never  dreamed  you  were  that 
girl's  father." 

Mr.  Stanton  swung  around  in  his  chair  and 
looked  at  him  sharply.      "Who  are  you  boys?" 

"We  came  from  Bridgeboro  in  New  Jersey," 
spoke  up  Roy,  "and  we're  going  up  the  river  roads 
as  far  as  Catskill  Landing.  Then  we're  going 
to  hit  inland  for  our  summer  camp." 

Mr.  Stanton  was  silent  for  a  few  moments, 
looking  keenly  at  them  while  they  stood  in  some 
suspense. 

"Well,"  he  said,  soberly,  "I  see  but  one  way  out 
of  the  difficulty.  The  stanchions  you  destroyed 
were  a  part  of  the  boat.  The  boat  is  of  no  use 
to  me  without  them.     I  suggest,  therefore,  that 


THE  "GOOD  TURN"  75 

you  take  the  boat  along  with  you.  It  belonged  to 
my  son  and  it  has  been  where  it  now  lies  ever 
since  the  storm  in  which  his  life  was  lost.  I  have 
not  seen  the  inside  of  it  since — I  do  not  want  to 
see  che  inside  of  it,"  he  added  brusquely,  moving 
a  paperweight  about  on  his  desk.  "It  is  only  three 
years  old,"  he  went  on  after  a  moment's  uncom- 
fortable pause,  "and  like  some  people  it  is  not 
as  bad  as  it  looks." 

The  boys  winced  a  little  at  this  thrust.  Mr. 
Stanton  was  silent  for  a  few  moments  and  Pee- 
wee  was  tempted  to  ask  him  something  about  his 
son,  but  did  not  quite  dare  to  venture. 

"I  think  the  boat  can  very  easily  be  removed 
to  the  river  with  a  little  of  the  ingenuity  which 
you  scouts  seem  to  have,  and  you  may  continue 
your  journey  in  her,  if  you  care  to.  You  may  con- 
sider it  a — a  present  from  my  daughter,  whom 
you  made  so  happy  yesterday." 

For  a  moment  the  boys  hardly  realized  the 
meaning  of  his  words.     Then  Tom  spoke. 

"We  have  a  rule,  Mr.  Stanton,  that  a  scout 
cannot  accept  anything  for  a  service.  If  he  does, 
it  spoils  it  all.  It's  great,  your  offering  us  the 
boat  and  it  seems  silly  not  to  take  it,  but " 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Stanton,  proceeding  to 


76     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

open  his  letters,  "if  you  prefer  to  go  to  jail  for 
destroying  my  stanchions,  very  well.  Remember 
you  are  dealing  with  a  lawyer."  Roy  fancied  he 
was  chuckling  a  little  inwardly. 

"That's  right,"  said  Pee-wee  in  Tom's  ear. 
"There's  no  use  trying  to  get  the  best  of  a  law- 
yer— a  scout  ought  to  be — to  be  modest;  we  bet- 
ter take  it,  Tom." 

"There's  a  difference  between  payment  for  a 
service  and  a  token  of  gratitude,"  said  Mr.  Stan- 
ton, looking  at  Tom.  "But  we  will  waive  all  that. 
I  cannot  allow  the  Boy  Scouts  to  be  laying  down 
the  law  for  me.  By  your  own  confession  you  have 
destroyed  my  stanchions  and  as  a  citizen  it  is  my 
duty  to  take  action.  But  if  I  were  to  give  you  a 
paper  dated  yesterday,  assigning  the  boat  to  you, 
then  it  would  appear  that  you  had  simply  tres- 
passed and  burglariously  entered  your  own  prop- 
erty and  destroyed  your  own  stanchions  and  I 
would  not  have  a  leg  to  stand  upon.  My  advice 
to  you  as  a  lawyer  is  to  accept  such  a  transfer  of 
title  and  avoid  trouble." 

He  began  ostentatiously  to  read  one  of  his  let- 
ters. 

"Pie's  right,  Tom,"  whispered  Pee-wee,  "It's 
what  you  call  a  teckinality.     Gee,  we  better  take 


THE  "GOOD  TURN"  77 

the  boat.  There's  no  use  trying  to  beat  a  lawyer. 
He's  got  the  right  on  his  side." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Tom,  doubtfully.  He, 
too,  fancied  that  Mr.  Stanton  was  laughing  in- 
wardly, but  he  was  not  good  at  repartee  and  the 
lawyer  was  too  much  for  him.  It  was  Roy  who 
took  the  situation  in  hand. 

"It  seems  ungrateful,  Mr.  Stanton,  even  to 
talk  about  whether  we'll  take  such  a  peach  of  a 
gift.  Tom  here  is  always  thinking  about  the  law 
— our  law — and  Pee-wee — we  call  this  kid  Pee- 
wee — he's  our  specialist  on  doing  good  turns. 
They're  both  cranks  in  different  ways.  I  know 
there's  a  difference,  as  you  say,  between  just  a 
present  and  a  reward.  And  it  seems  silly  to  say 
thank  you  for  such  a  present,  just  as  if  it  was  a 
penknife  or  something  like  that.  But  we  do  thank 
you  and  we'll  take  the  boat.  I  just  happened  to 
think  of  a  good  name  for  it  while  you  were  talk- 
ing. It  was  the  good  turn  Pee-wee  did  yester- 
day— about  the  bird,  I  mean — that  made  you 
offer  it  to  us  and  your  giving  it  to  us  is  a  good  turn 
besides,  so  I  guess  we'll  call  it  the  'Good  Turn.'  " 

"You  might  call  it  the  'Teckinality,'  "  suggested 
Mr.  Stanton  with  a  glance  at  Pee-wee. 

"All  right,"  he  added,  "I'll  send  one  of  my  men 


73     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

down  later  in  the  day  to  see  about  getting  her  in 
the  water.  I've  an  idea  a  block  and  falls  will  do 
the  trick.  But  you'd  better  caulk  her  up  with 
lampwick  and  give  her  a  coat  of  paint  in  the  mean- 
time." 

He  went  to  the  door  with  them  and  as  they 
turned  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  called  back 
another  "Thank  you,"  Roy  noticed  something  in 
his  face  which  had  not  been  there  before. 

"I  bet  he's  thinking  of  his  son,"  said  he. 

"Wonder  how  he  died,"  said  Tom. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BON    VOYAGE  1 

"Now,  you  see,"  said  Pee-wee,  "how  a  good 
turn  can  evolute." 

"Can  what?"  said  Tom. 

"Evolute." 

"It  could  neverlute  with  me,"  observed  Roy. 
"Gee,  but  we've  fallen  in  soft!  You  could  have 
knocked  me  down  with  a  toothpick.  I  wonder 
what  our  sleuth  friend,  the  sheriff,  will  say." 

The  sheriff  said  very  little;  he  was  too  aston- 
ished to  say  much.  So  were  most  of  the  people 
of  the  town.  When  they  heard  that  "Old  Man 
Stanton"  had  given  Harry  Stanton's  boat  to  some 
strange  boys  from  out  of  town,  they  said  that  the 
loss  of  his  son  must  have  affected  his  mind.  The 
boys  of  the  neighborhood,  incredulous,  went  out 
on  the  marsh  the  next  day  when  the  rain  held  up, 
and  stood  about  watching  the  three  strangers  at 
work  and  marvelling  at  "Old  Man  Stanton's"  ex- 
traordinary generosity. 

79 


80     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"Aw,  he  handed  'em  a  lemon!"  commented  the 
wiseacre.  "That  boat'll  never  run — it  won't  even 
float!" 

But  Harry  Stanton's  cruising  launch  was  no 
lemon.  It  proved  to  be  staunch  and  solid.  There 
wasn't  a  rotten  plank  in  her.  Her  sorry  appear- 
ance was  merely  the  superficial  shabbiness  which 
comes  from  disuse  and  this  the  boys  had  neither 
the  time  nor  the  money  to  remedy;  but  the  hull 
and  the  engine  were  good. 

To  the  latter  Roy  devoted  himself,  for  he  knew 
something  of  gas  engines  by  reason  of  the  two 
automobiles  at  his  own  house.  They  made  a  list 
of  the  things  they  needed,  took  another  hike  into 
Nyack  and  came  back  laden  with  material  and 
provisions.  Roy  poured  a  half-gallon  or  so  of 
kerosene  into  each  of  the  two  cylinders  and  left 
it  over  night.  The  next  morning  when  he  drained 
it  off  the  wheel  turned  over  easily  enough.  A  set 
of  eight  dry  cells,  some  new  wiring,  a  couple  of 
new  plugs,  a  little  session  with  a  pitted  coil,  a 
little  more  gas,  a  little  less  air,  a  little  more  gas, 
and  finally  the  welcome  first  explosion,  so  dear  to 
the  heart  of  the  motor-boatist,  rewarded  Roy's 
efforts  of  half  a  day. 

"Stop  it!    Stop  it"  !  shrieked  Pee-wee  from  out- 


BOX  VOYAGE  81 

side.  "I  hung  the  paint  can  on  the  propeller!  I'm 
getting  a  green  shower  bath!" 

He  poked  his  head  over  the  combing,  his  face, 
arms  and  clothing  bespattered  with  copper  paint. 

"Never  mind,  kiddo,"  laughed  Roy,  "It's  all 
in  the  game.  She  runs  like  a  dream.  Step  a  little 
closer,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  view  the  leopard 
boy.  Pee-wee,  you're  a  sight!  For  goodness' 
sakes,  get  some  sandpaper!" 

The  two  days  of  working  on  the  Good  Turn 
were  two  days  of  fun.  It  was  not  necessary  to 
caulk  her  lower  seams  for  the  dampness  of  the 
marsh  had  kept  them  tight,  and  the  seams  above 
were  easy.  They  did  not  bother  about  following 
the  water-line  and  painting  her  free-board  white; 
a  coat  of  copper  paint  over  the  whole  hull  sufficed. 
They  painted  the  sheathing  of  the  cockpit  a  com- 
mon-sense brown,  "neat  but  not  gaudy,"  as  Roy 
said.  The  deck  received  a  coat  of  an  unknown 
color  which  their  friend,  the  sheriff,  brought  them 
saying  he  had  used  it  on  his  chicken-coop.  The 
engine  they  did  in  aluminum  paint,  the  fly-wheel 
in  a  gaudy  red,  and  then  they  mixed  what  was  left 
of  all  the  paints. 

"I  bet  we  get  a  kind  of  blackish  white,"  said 
Pee-wee. 


82     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"I  bet  it's  green,"  said  Tom. 

But  it  turned  out  to  be  a  weak  silvery  gray  and 
with  this  they  painted  the  cabin,  or  rather  half 
the  cabin,  for  their  paint  gave  out. 

They  sat  until  long  after  midnight  in  the  little 
cabin  after  their  first  day's  work,  but  were  up  and 
at  it  again  bright  and  early  in  the  morning,  for 
Mr.  Stanton's  men  were  coming  with  the  block 
and  falls  at  high  tide  in  the  evening  to  haul  the 
Good  Turn  back  into  her  watery  home. 

Pee-wee  spent  a  good  part  of  the  day  throwing 
out  superfluous  junk  and  tidying  up  the  little 
cabin,  while  Tom  and  Roy  repaired  the  rubbing- 
rail  where  it  had  broken  loose  and  attended  to 
other  slight  repairs  on  the  outside. 

The  dying  sunlight  was  beginning  to  flicker  on 
the  river  and  the  three  were  finishing  their  supper 
in  the  cabin  when  Tom,  looking  through  the  port- 
hole, called,  "Oh,  here  comes  the  truck  and  an 
automobile  just  in  front  of  it!" 

Sure  enough,  there  on  the  road  was  the  truck 
with  its  great  coil  of  hempen  rope  and  its  big  pul- 
leys, accompanied  by  two  men  in  overalls.  Pee- 
wee  could  not  repress  his  exuberance  as  the  trio 
clambered  up  on  the  cabin  roof  and  waved  to  the 
little  cavalcade. 


BON  VOYAGE  83 

"In  an  hour  more  she'll  be  in  the  water,"  he 
shouted,  "and  we'll " 

"We'll  anchor  till  daylight,"   concluded   Roy. 

In  another  moment  a  young  girl,  laden  with 
bundles,  had  left  the  automobile  and  was  picking 
her  way  across  the  marsh.  It  proved  to  be  the 
owner  of  the  fugitive  bird. 

"I've  brought  you  all  the  things  that  belong  to 
the  boat,"  she  said,  "and  I'm  going  to  stay  and 
see  it  launched.  My  father  was  coming  too  but 
he  had  a  meeting  or  something  or  other.  Isn't  it 
perfectly  glorious  how  you  chopped  up  the  stanch- 
ions  " 

"Great,"  said  Roy.  "It  shows  the  good  that 
comes  out  of  breaking  the  law.  If  we  hadn't 
chopped  up  the  stanchions " 

"Oh,  crinkums,  look  at  this!"  interrupted  Pee- 
wee.     He  was  handling  the  colored  bow  lamp. 

"And  here's  the  compass,  and  here's  the  whis- 
tle, and  here's  the  fog-bell,"  said  the  girl,  unload- 
ing her  burden  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "And  here's 
the  flag  for  the  stern  and  here — look — I  made 
this  all  by  myself  and  sat  up  till  eleven  o'clock  to 
do  it — see  !" 

She  unfolded  a  cheese-cloth  pennant  with  the 
name  Good  Turn  sewed  upon  it.     "You  have  to 


84    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

fly  this  at  the  bow  in  memory  of  your  getting  my 
bird  for  me,"  she  said. 

"We'll  fly  it  at  the  bow  in  memory  of  what 
you  and  your  father  have  done  for  us,"  said 
Tom. 

"And  here's  some  fruit,  and  here's  some  sal- 
mon, and  here's  some  pickled  something  or  other 
— I  got  them  all  out  of  the  pantry  and  they  weigh 
a  ton!" 

There  was  no  time  for  talking  if  the  boat  was 
to  be  got  to  the  river  before  dark,  and  the  boys 
fell  to  with  the  men  while  the  girl  looked  about 
the  cabin  with  exclamations  of  surprise. 

"Isn't  it  perfectly  lovely,"  she  called  to  Tom, 
who  was  outside  encircling  the  hull  with  a  double 
line  of  heavy  rope,  under  the  men's  direction.  "I 
never  saw  anything  so  cute  and  wasn't  it  a  fine 
idea  giving  it  to  you !" 

"Bully,"  said  Tom. 

"It  was  just  going  to  ruin  here,"  she  said,  "and 
it  was  a  shame." 

It  was  a  busy  scene  that  followed  and  the  boys 
had  a  glimpse  of  the  wonderful  power  of  the  block 
and  falls.  To  an  enormous  tree  on  the  roadside 
a  gigantic  three-wheel  pulley  was  fastened  by 
means  of  a  metal  band  around  the  lower  part  of 


BON  VOYAGE  85 

the  trunk.  Several  other  pulleys  between  this  and 
the  boat  multiplied  the  hauling  power  to  such  a 
degree  that  one  person  pulling  on  the  loose  end 
which  was  left  after  the  rope  had  been  passed 
back  and  forth  many  times  through  the  several 
pulleys,  could  actually  move  the  boat.  The  hull 
was  completely  encircled,  the  rope  running  along 
the  sides  and  around  the  stern  with  another  rope 
below  near  the  keel  so  that  the  least  amount  of 
strain  would  be  put  upon  her. 

They  hitched  the  horses  to  the  rope's  end  and 
as  the  beasts  plunged  through  the  yielding  marsh 
the  boat  came  reeling  and  lurching  toward  the 
road.  Here  they  laid  planks  and  rollers  and 
jacked  her  across.  This  was  not  so  much  a  mat- 
ter of  brute  strength  as  of  skill.  The  two  men 
with  the  aid  of  the  Stanton  chauffeur  were  able, 
with  props  of  the  right  length,  to  keep  the  Good 
Turn  on  an  even  keel,  while  the  boys  removed  and 
replaced  the  rollers.  It  was  interesting  to  see  how 
the  bulky  hull  could  be  moved  several  hundred 
feet,  guided  and  urged  across  a  road  and  retarded 
upon  the  down  grade  to  the  river  by  two  or  three 
men  who  knew  just  how  to  do  it. 

Cautiously  the  rollers  were  retarded  with  ob- 
structing sticks,   as  the  men,   balancing  the  hull 


86    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

upright,  let  her  slowly  down  the  slope  into  the 
water.  Pee-wee  stood  upon  the  road  holding  the 
rope's  end  and  a  thrill  went  through  him  when  he 
felt  the  rocking  and  bobbing  of  the  boat  as  it  re- 
gained its  wonted  home,  and  at  last  floated  freely 
in  the  water. 

"Hang  on  to  that,  youngster,"  called  one  of  the 
men.     "She's  where  she  can  do  as  she  likes  now." 

As  the  Good  Turn,  free  at  last  from  prosaic 
rollers  and  plank  tracks,  rolled  easily  in  the  swell, 
pulling  gently  upon  the  rope  which  the  excited 
Pee-wee  held,  it  seemed  that  she  must  be  as  pleased 
as  her  new  owners  were,  at  finding  herslf  once 
more  in  her  natural  home.  How  graceful  and 
beautiful  she  looked  now,  in  the  dying  light! 
There  is  nothing  so  clumsy  looking  as  a  boat  on 
shore.  To  one  who  has  seen  a  craft  "laid  up,"  it 
is  hardly  recognizable  when  launched. 

"Well,  there  ye  are,"  said  one  of  the  men,  "an* 
'tain't  dark  yet  neither.  You  can  move  'er  by 
pullin'  one  finger  now,  hey?  She  looks  mighty 
nat'ral,  don't  she,  Bill?  Remember  when  we 
trucked  her  up  from  the  freight  station  and 
dumped  her  in  three  year  ago?  She  was  the 
Nymph  then.  Gol,  how  happy  that  kid  was — you 
remember,  Bill?    I'll  tell  you  kids  now  what  I  told 


BON  VOYAGE  87 

him  then — told  him  right  in  front  of  his  father; 
I  says,  'Harry,  you  remember  she's  human  and 
treat  her  as  such,'  that's  what  I  says  ter  him. 
You  remember,  Bill." 

Roy  noticed  that  the  girl  had  strolled  away  and 
was  standing  in  the  gathering  darkness  a  few 
yards  distant,  gazing  at  the  boat.  The  clumsy 
looking  hull,  in  which  the  boys  had  taken  refuge, 
seemed  trim  and  graceful  now,  and  Roy  was  re- 
minded of  the  fairy  story  of  the  ugly  duckling, 
who  was  really  a  swan,  but  whose  wondrous 
beauty  was  unappreciated  until  it  found  itself 
among  its  own  kindred. 

"Yes,  sir,  that's  wot  I  told  him,  'cause  I've  lived 
on  the  river  here  all  my  life,  ain't  I,  Bill,  an'  I 
know.  Yer  don't  give  an  automobile  no  name,  an' 
yer  don't  give  an  airyplane  no  name,  an'  yer  don't 
give  a  motorcycle  nor  a  bicycle  no  name,  but  yer 
give  a  boat  a  name  'cause  she's  human.  She'll  be 
cranky  and  stubborn  an'  then  she'll  be  soft  and 
amiable  as  pie — that's  'cause  she's  human.  An' 
that's  why  a  man'll  let  a  old  boat  stan'  an' 
rot  ruther'n  sell  it.  'Cause  it's  human  and  it 
kinder  gets  him.  You  treat  her  as  such,  you 
boys." 

"How  did  Harry  Stanton  die?"  Tom  asked. 


88     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

The  man,  with  a  significant  motion  of  his  finger 
toward  the  lone  figure  of  the  girl,  drew  nearer 
and  the  boys  gathered  about  him. 

"The  old  gent  didn'  tell  ye,  hey?" 

"Not  a  word." 

"Hmrara — well,  Harry  was  summat  older'n  you 
boys,  he  was  gettin'  to  be  a  reg'lar  young  man. 
Trouble  with  him  was  he  didn'  know  what  he 
wanted.  First  off,  he  must  have  a  horse,  V  then 
he  must  have  a  boat,  so  th'  old  man,  he  got  him 
this  boat.  He's  crusty,  but  he's  all  to  the  good, 
th'  old  man  is." 

"You  bet  your  life  he  is,"  said  Pee-wee. 

"Well,  Harry  an'  Benty  Willis — you  remember 
Benty,  Bill — him  an'  Benty  Willis  was  out  in  the 
Nymph — that's  this  here  very  boat.  They  had 
'er  anchored  up  a  ways  here,  right  off  Cerry's  Hill, 
an'  they  was  out  in  the  skiff  floppin'  'round — some 
said  fishin'." 

"They  was  bobbin'  fer  eels,  that's  wot  they  was 
doin',"  said  the  other  man. 

"Well,  wotever  they  was  doin'  it  was  night  'n'  i 
thar  was  a  storm.    An'  that's  every  bloomin'  thing 
me  or  you  or  anybody  else'll  ever  know  about  it. 
The  next  day  Croby  Risbeck  up  here  was  out  fer 
his  nets  an'  he  come  on  the  skiff  swamped,  over 


BOX  VOYAGE  89 

there  off'n  that  point.  An'  near  it  was  Benty  Wil- 
lis." 

"Drowned ?"  asked  Roy. 

"Drownded.  He  must  o'  tried  to  keep  afloat 
by  clingin'  t'  the  skiff,  but  she  was  down  to  her 
gunnel  an'  wouldn'  keep  a  cat  afloat.  He  might 
o'  kep'  his  head  out  o'  water  a  spell  clingin'  to  it. 
All  I  know  is  he  was  drownded  when  he  was 
found.     Wotever  become  o'  that  skiff,  Bill?" 

"And  what  about  Mr.  Stanton's  son?"  Roy 
asked. 

"Well,  they  got  his  hat  an'  his  coat  that  he 
must  a'  thrown  off  an'  that's  all.  Th'  old  man  'ud 
never  look  at  the  launch  again.  He  had  her 
brought  over'n'  tied  up  right  about  here,  an'  there 
she  stood  till  the  floods  carried  her  up  over  this 
here  road  and  sot  her  down  in  the  marsh." 

"Did  the  skiff  belong  with  her?"   Roy  asked. 

"Sure  enough;  always  taggin'  on  behind." 

"How  did  they  think  it  happened?"  asked  Tom. 

"Wall,  fer  one  thing,  it  was  a  rough  night  an' 
they  may  uv  jest  got  swamped.  But  agin,  it's  a 
fact  that  Harry  knew  how  to  swim;  he  was  a 
reg'lar  water-rat.  Now,  what  T  think  is  this.  Th' 
only  thing  't  'd  prevent  that  lad  gettin'  ashore'd  be 
his  gettin'  killed — not  drowned,  but  killed." 


9o    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"You  don't  mean  murdered?"  Tom  asked. 

"Well,  if  they  was  swamped  by  the  big  night 
boat,  an'  he  got  mixed  up  with  the  paddle  wheel, 
I  don't  know  if  ye'd  call  it  murder,  but  it'd  be 
killin',  sure  enough.  Leastways,  they  never  got 
him,  an'  it's  my  belief  he  was  chopped  up.  Take 
a  tip  from  me,  you  boys,  an'  look  out  fer  the  night 
boat,  'cause  the  night  boat  ain't  agoin'  t'  look  out 
fer  you." 

The  girl,  strolling  back,  put  an  end  to  their 
talk,  but  it  was  clear  that  she,  too,  must  have  been 
thinking  of  that  fatal  night,  for  her  eyes  were  red 
and  she  seemed  less  vivacious. 

"You  must  be  careful,"  said  she,  "there  are  a 
good  many  accidents  on  the  river.  My  father 
told  me  to  tell  you  you'd  better  not  do  much 
traveling  at  night.  I  want  to  see  you  on  board, 
and  then  I  must  go  home,"  she  added. 

She  held  out  her  hand  and  Roy,  who  was  in 
this  instance  best  suited  to  speak  for  the  three, 
grasped  it. 

"There's  no  use  trying  to  thank  you  and  your 
father,"  he  said.  "If  you'd  given  us  some  little 
thing  we  could  thank  you,  but  it  seems  silly  to  say 
just  the  same  thing  when  we  have  a  thing  like  this 
given  to  us,  and  yet  it  seems  worse  for  us  to  go 


BON  VOYAGE  91 

away  without  saying  anything.  I  guess  you  know 
what  I  mean." 

"You  must  promise  to  be  careful — can  you  all 
swim  r 

"We  are  scouts,"  laughed  Roy. 

"And  that  means  you  can  do  anything,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"No,  not  that,"  Roy  answered,  "but  we  do  want 
to  tell  you  how  much  we  thank  you — you  and  your 
father." 

"Especially  you,"  put  in  Pee-wee. 

She  smiled,  a  pretty  wistful  smile,  and  her  eyes 
glistened.  "You  did  more  for  me,"  she  said, 
"you  got  my  bird  back.  I  care  more  for  that  bird 
than  I  could  ever  care  for  any  boat.  My  brother 
brought  it  to  me  from  Costa  Rica." 

She  stepped  back  to  the  auto.  The  chauffeur 
was  already  in  his  place,  and  the  two  men  were 
coiling  up  their  ropes  and  piling  the  heavy  planks 
and  rollers  on  board  the  truck.  The  freshly 
painted  boat  was  growing  dim  in  the  gathering 
darkness  and  the  lordly  hills  across  the  river  were 
paling  into  gray  again.  As  the  little  group  paused, 
a  deep,  melodious  whistle  re-echoed  from  the  tow- 
ering heights  and  the  great  night  boat  came  into 
view,  her  lights  aloft,  plowing  up  midstream.   The 


92     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

Good  Turn  bobbed  humbly  like  a  good  subject  as 
the  mighty  white  giant  passed.  The  girl  watched 
the  big  steamer  wistfully  and  for  a  moment  no 
one  spoke. 

"Was  your  brother — fond  of  traveling?"  Roy 
ventured. 

"Yes,  he  was  crazy  for  it,"  she  answered, 
"and  you  can't  bring  him  back  as  you  brought 
my  bird  back — you  can't  do  everything  after 
all." 

It  was  Tom  Slade  who  spoke  now.  "We 
couldn't  do  any  more  than  try,"  said  he.  He 
spoke  in  that  dull,  heavy  manner,  and  it  annoyed 
Roy,  for  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  making  fun  of  the 
girl's  bereavement. 

Perhaps  it  seemed  the  same  to  her,  for  she 
turned  the  subject  at  once.  "I'm  going  to  sit  here 
until  you  are  in  the  boat,"  she  said. 

They  pulled  the  Good  Turn  as  near  the  shore 
as  they  could  bring  her  without  grounding  for  the 
tide  was  running  out,  and  Pee-wee  held  her  with 
the  rope  while  the  others  went  aboard  over  a  plank 
laid  from  the  shore  to  the  deck.  Then  Pee-wee 
followed,  hurrying,  for  there  was  nothing  to  hold 
her  now. 

They  clambered  up  on  the  cabin,  Roy  waving 


EON  VOYAGE  93 

the  naval  flag,  and  Pee-wee  the  name  pennant, 
while  Tom  cast  the  anchor,  for  already  the  Good 
Turn  was  drifting. 

"Good-bye!"  they  cried. 

"Good-bye  !"  she  called  back,  waving  her  hand- 
kerchief as  the  auto  started,  "and  good  luck  to 
you!" 

"We'll  try  to  do  a  good  turn  some  day  to  make 
up,"  shouted  Pee-wee. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    MYSTERY 

"What  I  don't  understand,"  said  Tom,  in  his 
dull  way,  "is  how  if  that  fellow  was  drowned  or 
killed  that  night,  he  managed  to  get  back  to  this 
boat  again — that's  what  gets  me." 

"What?"  said  Roy. 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  chimed  in  Pee- 
wee. 

They  were  sitting  in  the  little  cabin  of  the 
Good  Turn  eating  rice  cakes,  about  an  hour  after 
the  launching.  The  boat  rocked  gently  at  its  moor- 
ings, the  stars  glittered  in  the  wide  expanse  of 
water,  the  tiny  lights  in  the  neighboring  village 
kept  them  cheery  company  as  they  chatted  there 
in  the  lonesome  night  with  the  hills  frowning  down 
upon  them.  It  was  very  quiet  and  this,  no  less 
than  the  joyous  sense  of  possession  of  this  cosy 
home,  kept  them  up,  notwithstanding  their  stren- 
uous two  days  of  labor. 

"Just  what  I  said,"  said  Tom.  "See  that  board 
94 


THE  MYSTERY  95 

you  fixed  the  oil  stove  on?  I  believe  that  was 
part  of  that  skiff.  You  can  see  the  letters 
N-Y-M-P-H  even  under  the  paint.  That  strip  was 
in  the  boat  all  the  time.  How  did  it  get  here? 
That's  what  I'd  like  to  know." 

Roy  laid  down  his  "flopper"  and  examined  the 
board  carefully,  the  excited  Pee-wee  joining  him. 
It  was  evidently  the  upper  strip  of  the  side  plank- 
ing from  a  rowboat  and  at  one  end,  under  the  di- 
luted paint  which  they  had  here  used,  could  be 
dimly  traced  the  former  name  of  the  launch. 

"  What-do-you-know-about-that  ?"  ejaculated 
Roy. 

"It's  a  regular  mystery,"  said  Pee-wee;  "that's 
one  thing  I  like,  a  mystery." 

"If  that's  a  part  of  this  boat's  skiff,"  said  Tom, 
"then  it  proves  two  things.  It  proves  that  the  boat 
was  damaged — no  fellow  could  pull  a  plank  from 
it  like  that;  and  it  proves  that  that  fellow  came 
back  to  the  launch.  It  proves  that  he  was  injured, 
too.  That  man  said  he  could  swim.  Then  why 
should  he  bring  this  board  back  with  him  unless  it 
was  to  help  him  keep  afloat?" 

"He  wouldn't  need  to  drag  it  aboard,"  said 
Roy. 

"Now  you  spoil  it  all,"  put  in  Pee-wee. 


96    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  that,"  said  Toms 
"but  that  board  didn't  drift  back  and  climb  in  by 
itself.  It  must  have  been  here  all  the  time.  I 
suppose  the  other  fellow — the  one  they  found 
'  drowned — might  have  got  it  here,  some  way,"  he 
added. 

"Not  likely,"  said  Roy.  "If  he'd  managed  to 
get  back  to  the  launch  with  the  board,  he  wouldn't 
have  jumped  overboard  again  just  to  get  drowned. 
He'd  have  managed  to  stay  aboard." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  minutes  while  Roy 
drummed  on  the  plank  with  his  fingers  and  Pee- 
wee  could  hardly  repress  his  excitement  at  the 
thought  that  they  were  on  the  track  of  a  real  ad- 
venture. Tom  Slade  had  "gone  and  done  it 
again."  He  was  always  surprising  them  by  his 
stolid  announcement  of  some  discovery  which 
opened  up  delectable  possibilities.  And  smile  as 
he  would  (especially  in  view  of  Pee-wee's  exuber- 
ance), Roy  could  not  but  see  that  here  was  some- 
thing of  very  grave  significance. 

"That's  what  I  meant,"  drawled  Tom,  "when 
I  told  her  that  we  could  try — to  find  her  brother." 

This  was  a  knockout  blow. 

"This  trip  of  ours  is  going  to  be  just  like  a 
book,"  prophesied  Pee-wee,  excitedly;  "there's  a 


THE  MYSTERY  97 

— there's  a — long  lost  brother,  and — and — a  deep 
mystery!" 

"Sure,"  said  Roy.  "We'll  have  to  change  our 
names;  I'll  be  Roy  Rescue,  you  be  Pee-wee  Pink- 
erton,  the  boy  sleuth,  and  Tom'll  be  Tom  Trust- 
ful.   What  d'you  say,  Tom?" 

Tom  made  no  answer  and  for  all  Roy's  joking, 
he  was  deeply  interested.  Like  most  important 
clues,  the  discovery  was  but  a  little  thing,  yet  it 
could  not  be  accounted  for  except  on  the  theory 
that  Harry  Stanton  had  somehow  gotten  back  to 
the  launch  after  the  accident,  whatever  the  acci- 
dent was.  It  meant  just  that — nothing  less  and 
nothing  more;  though,  indeed,  it  did  mean  more 
to  Pee-wee  and  as  he  slept  that  night,  in  the  gently 
rocking  boat,  he  dreamed  that  he  had  vowed  a 
solemn  vow  to  Mr.  Stanton's  daughter  to  "find 
her  brother  or  perish  in  the  attempt."  He  carried 
a  brace  of  pistols,  and  sailing  forth  with  his  trusty 
chums,  he  landed  in  the  island  of  Madagascar,  to 
which  Harry  Stanton  had  been  carried,  bound 
hand  and  foot,  in  an  aeroplane.  The  three,  un- 
daunted, then  built  a  Zeppelin  and  sailed  up  to  the 
summit  of  a  dizzy  crag  where  they  rescued  the  kid- 
napped youth  and  on  reaching  home,  Mr.  Stanton 
gave  them  a  sea-going  yacht  and  a  million  dollars 


98     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

each  for  pocket  money.  When  he  awoke  from 
this  thrilling  experience  he  found  that  the  Good 
Turn  was  chugging  leisurely  up  the  river  in  the 
broad  daylight. 

The  boat  behaved  very  well,  indeed.  She 
leaked  a  little  from  the  strain  of  launching,  but 
the  engine  pumped  the  water  out  faster  than  it 
came  in.  All  day  long  they  lolled  in  the  cockpit 
or  on  the  cabin  roof,  taking  turns  at  the  steering. 
Roy,  who  best  understood  gas  engines,  attended 
to  the  motor,  but  it  needed  very  little  attention 
except  that  it  missed  on  high  speed,  so  he  humored 
it  and  they  ambled  along  at  "sumpty-sump  miles 
an  hour,"  as  Roy  said,  "but  what  care  we,"  he 
added,  "as  long  as  she  goes."  They  anchored  for 
several  hours  in  the  middle  of  the  day  and  fished, 
and  had  a  mess  of  fresh  perch  for  luncheon. 

Naturally,  the  topic  of  chief  interest  was  the 
possibility  that  Harry  Stanton  was  living,  but  the 
clue  which  appeared  to  indicate  that  much  sug- 
gested nothing  further,  and  the  question  of  why 
he  did  not  return  home,  if  he  were  indeed  alive, 
was  a  puzzling  one. 

"His  sister  said  he  had  been  to  Costa  Rica,  and 
was  fond  of  traveling,"  suggested  Tom.  "Maybe 
his  parents  objected  to  his  going  away  from  home 


THE  MYSTERY  99 

so  he  went  this  way — as  long  as  the  chance  came 
to  him — and  let  them  think  he  was  drowned." 

Roy,  sitting  on  the  cabin  roof  with  his  knees 
drawn  up,  shook  his  head.  "Or  maybe  he  left  the 
boat  again  and  tried  to  swim  to  shore  to  go  home, 
and  didn't  make  it,"  he  added. 

"That's  possible,"  said  Tom,  "but  then  they'd 
probably  have  found  his  body." 

"We  aren't  sure  he's  alive,"  Roy  said  thought- 
fully, "but  it  means  a  whole  lot  not  to  be  sure  that 
he's  dead." 

"Maybe  he  was  made  away  with  by  someone 
who  wanted  the  boat,"  said  Pee-wee.  "Maybe  a 
convict  from  the  prison  killed  him- — you  never  can 
tell.    Jiminys,  it's  a  mystery,  sure." 

"You  bet  it  is,"  said  Roy.  "The  plot  grows 
thicker.  If  Sir  Guy  Weatherby  were  only  here, 
or  Detective  Darewell — or  some  of  those  story- 
book ginks  they " 

"They  probably  wouldn't  have  noticed  the  plank 
from  the  skiff,"  suggested  Pee-wee. 

Roy  laughed  and  then  fell  to  thinking.  "Gee, 
it  would  be  great  if  we  could  find  him!"  he  said. 

And  there  the  puzzling  matter  ended,  for  the 
time  being;  but  the  Good  Turn  took  on  a  new  in- 
terest because  of  the  mystery  with  which  it  was 


ioo    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

associated  and  Pee-wee  was  continually  edifying 
his  companions  with  startling  and  often  grewsome 
theories  as  to  the  fate  or  present  whereabouts  of 
Harry  Stanton,  until — until  that  thing  happened 
which  turned  all  their  thoughts  from  this  puzzle 
and  proved  that  bad  turns  as  well  as  good  ones 
have  the  boomerang  quality  of  returning  upon 
their  author. 

It  was  the  third  afternoon  of  their  cruise,  or 
their  "flop"  as  Roy  called  it,  for  they  had  flopped 
along  rather  than  cruised,  and  the  Good  Turn's 
course  would  have  indicated,  as  he  remarked,  a 
fit  of  the  blind  staggers.  They  had  paused  to  fish 
and  to  bathe;  they  had  thrown  together  a  make- 
shift aquaplane  from  the  pieces  of  an  old  float 
which  they  had  found,  and  had  ridden  gayly  upon 
it;  and  their  course  had  been  so  leisurely  and  ramb- 
ling that  they  had  not  yet  reached  Poughkeepsie, 
when  all  of  a  sudden  the  engine  stopped. 

Roy  went  through  the  usual  course  of  procedure 
to  start  it  up,  but  without  result.  There  was  not 
a  kick  left  in  it.  Silently  he  unscrewed  the  cap 
on  the  deck,  pushed  a  stick  into  the  tank  and  lifted 
it  out — dry. 

"Boys,"  said  he,  solemnly,  "there  is  not  a  drop 
of  gasoline  in  the  tank.     The  engine  must  have 


THE  MYSTERY  101 

used  it  all  up.  Probably  it  has  been  using  it  all 
the  time " 

"You  make  me  sick,"  said  Pee-wee. 

"I  have  known  engines  to  do  that  before." 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  to  get  gasoline  in  New- 
burgh?"  demanded  Pee-wee. 

"You  did,  Sir  Walter,  and  would  that  we  had 
taken  your  advice;  but  I  trusted  the  engine  and 
it  has  evidently  been  using  the  gasoline  while  our 
backs  were  turned.  We  should  worry!  You 
don't  suppose  it  would  run  on  witch  hazel,  do 
you?" 

"Didn't  I  tell "  began  Pee-wee. 

"If  we  could  only  reduce  friend  Walter  to  a 
liquid,"  said  Roy.  "I  think  we  could  get  started 
all  right — he's  so  explosive." 

"Bright  boy,"  said  Tom. 

"Oh,  I'm  a  regular  feller,  I  am,"  said  Roy.  "I 
knew  that  engine  would  stop  when  there  wasn't 
any  more  gasoline — I  just  felt  it  in  my  bones.  But 
what  care  we ! 

'Oh,  we  are  merry  mountaineers, 

And  have  no  carking  cares  or  fears 

Or  gasoline.' 

Get  out  the  oars,  scouts!" 


102    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

So  they  got  out  the  oars  and  with  the  aid  of 
these  and  a  paddle  succeeded  in  making  the  shore' 
where  they  tied  up  to  the  dilapidated  remnants 
of  what  had  once  been  a  float. 

"There  must  be  a  village  in  the  neighborhood," 
said  Tom,  "or  there  wouldn't  be  a  float  here." 

"Sherlock  Holmes  Slade  is  at  it  again,"  said 
Roy.  It  would  have  been  a  pretty  serious  acci- 
dent that  Roy  wouldn't  have  taken  gayly.  "Pee- 
wee,  you're  appointed  a  committee  to  look  after 
the  boat  while  Tomasso  and  I  go  in  search  of 
adventure — and  gasoline.  There  must  be  a  road 
up  there  somewhere  and  if  there's  a  road  I  dare 
say  we  can  find  a  garage — maybe  even  a  village. 
Get  things  ready  for  supper.  Pee-wee,  and  when 
we  get  back  I'll  make  a  Silver  Fox  omelet  for 
good  luck." 

The  spot  where  they  had  made  a  landing  was 
at  the  foot  of  precipitous  hills  between  which  and 
the  shore  ran  the  railroad  tracks.  Tom  and  Roy, 
carrying  a  couple  of  gasoline  cans,  started  along 
a  road  which  led  around  the  lower  reaches  of  one 
of  these  hills.  As  Pee-wee  stood  upon  the  cabin 
watching  them,  the  swinging  cans  were  brightened 
by  the  rays  of  the  declining  sun,  and  there  was  a 
chill  in  the  air  as  the  familiar  grayness  fell  upon 


THE  MYSTERY  103 

the  heights,  bringing  to  the  boy  that  sense  of  lone- 
liness which  he  had  felt  before. 

He  was  of  the  merriest  temperament,  was  Pee- 
wee,  and,  as  he  had  often  said,  not  averse  to 
"being  jollied."  But  he  was  withal  very  sensitive 
and  during  the  trip  he  had  more  than  once  fancied 
that  Tom  and  Roy  had  fallen  together  to  his  own 
exclusion,  and  it  awakened  in  him  now  and  then 
a  feeling  that  he  was  the  odd  number  of  the 
party.  He  had  tried  to  ingratiate  himself  with 
them,  though  to  be  sure  no  particular  effort  was 
needed  to  do  that,  yet  sometimes  he  saw,  or  fan- 
cied he  saw,  little  things  which  made  him  feel  that 
in  important  matters  he  was  left  cut  of  account. 
Roy  would  slap  him  on  the  shoulder  and  tousle 
his  hair,  but  he  would  ask  Tom's  advice — and 
take  it.  Perhaps  Roy  had  allowed  his  propensity 
for  banter  and  jollying  to  run  too  far  in  his  treat- 
ment of  Pee-wee.  At  all  events,  the  younger  boy 
had  found  himself  a  bit  chagrined  at  times  that 
their  discussions  had  not  been  wholly  three- 
handed.  And  now,  as  he  watched  the  others  hik- 
ing off  through  the  twilight,  and  heard  their 
laughter,  he  recalled  that  it  was  usually  he  who 
was  appointed  a  "committee  to  stay  and  watch 
the  boat." 


io4    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

This  is  not  a  pleasant  train  of  thought  when 
you  are  standing  alone  in  the  bleakness  and  sad- 
ness and  growing  chill  of  the  dying  day,  with  tre- 
mendous nature  piled  all  about  you,  and  watching 
your  two  companions  as  they  disappear  along  a 
lonely  road.  But  the  mood  was  upon  him  and  it 
did  not  cheer  him  when  Roy,  turning  and  making 
a  megaphone  of  his  hands,  called,  "Look  out  and 
don't  fall  into  the  gas  tank,  Pee-wee  I" 

He  had  reminded  them  that  they  had  better  buy 
gasoline  at  Newburgh,  while  they  had  the  chance. 
Roy  had  answered  jokingly  telling  Pee-wee  that 
he  had  better  buy  a  soda  in  the  city  while  he  had 
the  chance,  and  Tom  had  added,  "I  guess  the  kid 
thinks  we  want  to  drink  it." 

Well,  there  they  were  hiking  it  up  over  the 
hills  now  in  quest  of  gasoline  and  still  joking  him. 

If  Pee-wee  had  remembered  Roy's  generous 
pleasure  in  the  "parrot  stunt,"  he  would  have 
been  much  happier,  but  instead  he  allowed  his 
imagination  to  picture  Tom  and  Roy  in  the  neigh- 
boring village,  having  a  couple  of  sodas — perhaps 
taking  a  flyer  at  a  movie  show. 

He  did  as  much  as  he  could  toward  getting  sup- 
per, and  when  it  grew  dark  and  still  they  did  not 
return,  he  clambered  up  on  the  cabin  roof  again 


THE  MYSTERY  105 

and  sat  there  gazing  off  into  the  night.  But  still 
they  did  not  come. 

"Gee,  I'm  a  Silver  Fox,  anyway,"  he  said; 
"you'd  think  he'd  want  one  of  his  own  patrol  with 
him  sometimes — gee!" 

He  rose  and  went  down  into  the  cabin  where 
the  dollar  watch  which  hung  on  a  nail  told  him 
that  it  was  eight  o'clock.  Then  it  occurred  to  him 
that  it  would  serve  them  right  if  he  got  his  own 
supper  and  was  in  his  bunk  and  asleep  when  they 
returned.  It  would  be  a  sort  or  revenge  on  them. 
He  would  show  them,  at  least,  that  he  could  get 
along  very  well  by  himself,  and  by  way  of  doing 
so  he  would  make  some  rice  cakes.  Roy  was  not 
the  only  one  who  could  make  rice  cakes.  He,  Pee- 
wee,  could  make  them  if  nobody  stood  by  guying 
him. 

He  had  never  wielded  the  flopper;  that  had 
been  Roy's  province;  but  he  could,  all  right,  he 
told  himself.  So  he  dug  into  Roy's  duffel  bag  for 
the  recipe  book  which  was  famous  in  the  troop ; 
which  told  the  secrets  of  the  hunter's  stew;  which 
revealed  the  mystery  of  plum-duff  and  raisin  pop- 
overs  in  all  their  luscious  details  and  which  set  you 
on  the  right  path  for  the  renowned  rice  cakes. 

Between  the  leaves,  right  where  the  rice  cake 


io6    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

recipe  revealed  itself  to  the  hungry  inquirer,  was 
a.  folded  paper  which  dropped  out  as  Pee-wee 
opened  the  book.  For  all  he  knew  it  contained 
the  recipe  so  he  held  it  under  the  lantern  and 
read: 


"Dear  Mary: 

"Since  you  butted  in,  Tom  and  I  have 
decided  that  it  would  be  better  for  Pee-wee 
to  go  with  him,  and  I'll  stay  home  Anyway, 
that's  what  I've  decided.  So  you'll  get  your 
wish  all  right  and  I  should  worry. 

"Roy." 

Pee-wee  read  it  twice  over,  then  he  laid  it  on 
the  locker  and  sat  down  and  looked  at  it.  Then  he 
picked  it  up  and  read  it  over  again.  He  did  not 
even  realize  that  its  discovery  among  Roy's  things 
would  indicate  that  it  had  never  been  sent.  Sent 
or  not,  it  had  been  written. 

So  this  was  the  explanation  of  Roy's  invitation 
that  he  accompany  them  on  the  trip.  Mary  Tem- 
ple had  asked  them  to  let  him  go.  Yet,  despite 
his  present  mood,  he  could  not  believe  that  his 
own  patrol  leader,  Roy  Blakeley,  could  have  writ- 
ten this. 


THE  MYSTERY  107 

"I  bet  Tom  Slade  is — I  bet  he's  the  cause  of 
it,"  he  said. 

He  recalled  now  how  he  had  talked  about  the 
trip  to  Mary  Temple  and  how  she  had  spoken 
rather  mysteriously  about  the  possibility  cf  his 
going  along.  So  it  was  she  who  was  his  good 
friend;  it  was  to  her  he  owed  the  invitation  which 
had  come  to  him  with  such  a  fine  air  of  sincerity. 

"I  always — crinkums,  anyway  girls  always  seem 
to  like  me,  that's  one  thing,"  he  said.  "And — and 
Roy  did,  too,  before  Tom  Slade  came  into  the 
troop." 

It  was  odd  how  he  turned  against  Tom,  making 
him  the  scapegoat  for  Roy's  apparent  selfishness 
and  hypocrisy. 

"They  just  brought  me  along  for  charity,  like," 
he  said,  "  'cause  she  told  them  to.  Cracky,  any- 
way, I  didn't  try  to  make  her  do  that — I  didn't." 

This  revelation  in  black  and  white  of  Roy's  real 
feeling  overcame  him  and  as  he  put  the  letter  back 
in  the  book  and  the  book  back  in  the  duffel  bag, 
he  could  scarcely  keep  his  hand  from  trembling. 

"Anyway,  I  knew  it  all  the  time,"  he  said.  "I 
could  see  it." 

He  had  no  appetite  for  rice  cakes  now.  He 
took  some  cakes  of  chocolate  and  a  couple  of  hard 


108     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

biscuits  and  stuffed  them  in  his  pocket.  Then  he 
went  out  into  the  cockpit  and  listened.  There 
was  no  sound  of  voices  or  footfalls,  nothing  but 
the  myriad  voices  of  nature,  or  frogs  croaking 
nearby,  of  a  cheery  cricket  somewhere  on  shore, 
of  the  water  lapping  against  the  broken  old  wharf 
as  the  wind  drove  it  in  shoreward. 

He  returned  to  the  cabin,  tore  a  leaf  from  his 
scout  notebook  and  wrote,  but  he  had  to  blink 
his  eyes  to  keep  back  the  tears. 

"Dear  Roy: 

"I  think  you'll  have  more  fun  if  you- 
two  go  the  rest  of  the  way  alone.  I  always 
said  two's  a  company,  three's  a  crowd. 
You've  heard  me  say  it  and  I  ought  to  have 
had  sense  enough  to  remember  it.  But  any- 
way, I'm  not  mad  and  I  like  you  just  as  much. 
I'll  see  you  at  camp. 

"Walter  Harris." 

"P.  S. — If  I  had  to  vote  again  for  patrol 
leader  I'd  vote  for  you." 

He  was  particular  not  to  mention  Tom  by  name 
and  to  address  his  note  to  Roy.  He  laid  it  in  the 
frying  pan  on  the  stove  (in  which  he  had  intended 


THE  MYSTERY  109 

to  make  the  rice  cakes)  and  then,  with  his  duffel 
bag  over  his  shoulder  and  his  scout  staff  in  hand, 
he  stepped  from  the  Good  Turn,  listening  cau- 
tiously for  approaching  footsteps,  and  finding  the 
way  clear  he  stole  away  through  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  X 

pee-wee's  adventure 

A  walk  of  a  few  yards  or  so  brought  him  to 
the  railroad  track.  He  was  no  longer  the  clown 
and  mascot  of  the  Good  Turn;  he  was  the  scout, 
alert,  resourceful,  bent  on  hiding  his  tracks. 

He  did  not  know  where  he  was  going,  more 
than  that  he  was  going  to  elude  pursuit  and  find 
a  suitable  spot  in  which  to  camp  for  the  night. 
Matters  would  take  care  of  themselves  in  the  day- 
time. He  wanted  to  follow  the  railroad  tracks, 
for  he  knew  that  would  keep  him  close  to  the 
river,  but  he  knew  also  that  it  had  the  disadvan- 
tage of  being  the  very  thing  the  boys  would  sup- 
pose it  most  likely  that  he  would  do.  For,  feel  as 
he  would  toward  them,  he  did  not  for  a  moment 
believe  that  they  would  let  him  take  himself  off 
without  searching  for  him.  And  he  knew  some- 
thing of  Tom  Slade's  ability  as  a  tracker. 

"They  won't  get  any  merit  badges  trailing  me, 
though,"  he  said. 

ISO 


PEE-WEE'S  ADVENTURE  1 1 1 

So  he  crossed  the  tracks  and  walked  a  couple 
of  hundred  feet  or  so  up  a  hill,  grabbed  the  limb 
of  a  tree,  swung  up  into  its  branches,  let  himself 
down  on  the  other  side,  and  retraced  his  steps  to 
the  tracks  and  began  to  walk  the  ties,  northward. 
He  was  now  thoroughly  in  the  spirit  of  the  esca- 
pade and  a  feeling  of  independence  seized  him, 
a  feeling  that  every  scout  knows,  that  having  un- 
dertaken a  thing  he  must  succeed  in  it. 

A  walk  of  about  ten  minutes  brought  him  to  a 
high,  roofed  platform  beside  the  tracks,  where 
one  or  two  hogsheads  were  standing  and  several 
cases.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  life  or  habita- 
tion. It  was  evidently  the  freight  station  for  some 
town  not  far  distant,  for  a  couple  of  old-fashioned 
box-cars  stood  on  a  siding,  and  Pee-wee  contem- 
plated them  with  the  joy  of  sudden  inspiration. 

"Crinkums,  that  would  be  a  dandy  place  to 
sleep,"  he  thought,  for  it  was  blowing  up  cold  and 
he  had  but  scant  equipment. 

He  went  up  to  the  nearest  car  and  felt  of  the 
sliding  door.  It  was  the  least  bit  open,  owing  to 
its  damaged  condition,  and  by  moving  it  a  very 
few  inches  more  he  could  have  slipped  inside.  But 
he  paused  to  examine  the  pasters  and  chalk  marks 
on  the  body.     One  read  "Buffalo— 4— LLM." 


ii2    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

There  were  the  names  of  various  cities  and  num- 
erous strange  marks.  It  was  evident  the  car  had 
been  quite  a  globe-trotter  in  its  time,  but  as  it  stood 
there  then  it  seemed  to  Pee-wee  that  so  it  must 
have  stood  for  a  dozen  years  and  was  likely  to 
stand  for  a  dozen  years  more. 

He  slid  the  door  a  little  farther  open  on  its 
rusty  hinges  and  climbed  inside.  It  was  very  dark 
and  still  and  smelled  like  a  stable,  but  suddenly  he 
was  aware  of  a  movement  not  far  from  him.  He 
did  not  exactly  hear  it,  but  he  felt  that  something 
was  moving.  For  a  moment  a  cold  shudder  went 
over  him  and  he  stood  stark  still,  not  daring  to 
move.  Then,  believing  that  his  imagination  had 
played  a  trick,  he  fumbled  in  his  duffel  bag,  found 
his  flashlight  and  sent  its  vivid  gleam  about  the 
car.  A  young  fellow  in  a  convict's  suit  stood  me- 
nacingly before  the  door  with  one  hand  upon  it, 
blinking  and  watching  the  boy  with  a  lowering  as- 
pect. His  head  was  close-shaven  and  shone  in 
the  lightls  glare  so  that  he  looked  hardly  human. 
He  had  apparently  sprung  to  the  door,  perhaps 
out  of  a  sound  sleep,  and  he  was  evidently  greatly 
alarmed.  Pee-wee  was  also  greatly  alarmed,  but 
he  was  no  coward  and  he  stood  his  ground  though 
his  heart  was  pounding  in  his  breast. 


PEE-WEE'S  ADVENTURE  113 

"You  ain't  no  bo,"  said  the  man. 

"I — I'm  a  scout,"  stammered  Pee-wee,  "and 
I  was  going  to  camp  here  for  the  night.  I  didn't 
know  there  was  anyone  here." 

The  man  continued  to  glare  at  him  and  Pee-wee 
thought  he  had  never  in  his  life  seen  such  a  vil- 
lainous face. 

"I'll — I'll  go  away,"  he  said,  "I  was  only  going 
to  sleep  here." 

The  convict,  still  guarding  the  door,  leered 
brutally  at  him,  his  head  hanging  low,  his  lips 
apart,  more  like  a  beast  than  a  man. 

"No,  yer  won't  go  'way,  nuther,"  he  finally 
said;  "yer  ain't  goin'  ter  double-cross  me,  pal. 
Wot  d'yer  say  yer  wuz?" 

"A  scout,"  said  Pee-wee.  "I  don't  need  to  stay 
here,  you  were  here  first.     I  can  camp  outdoors." 

"No,  yer  don't,"  said  the  man.  "You  stay  whar 
yer  are.     Yer  ain't  goin'  ter  double-cross  me." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  that,"  said 
Pee-wee. 

The  convict  did  not  offer  him  any  explanation, 
only  stood  guarding  the  door  with  a  threatening 
aspect,  which  very  much  disconcerted  Pee-wee. 
He  was  a  scout  and  he  was  brave,  and  not  panicky 
in  peril  or  emergency,  but  the  striped  clothing  and 


ii4    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

cropped  head  and  stupid  leer  of  the  man  before 
him  made  him  seem  something  less  than  human. 
His  terror  was  more  that  of  an  animal  than  of  a 
man  and  his  apparent  inability  to  express  himself 
save  by  the  repetition  of  that  one  sentence  fright- 
ened the  boy.  Apparently  the  creature  was  all 
instinct  and  no  brains. 

"Yer  gotta  stay  here,"  he  repeated.  "Yer  ain't 
goin'  ter  double-cross  me,  pal." 

Then  it  began  to  dawn  on  Pee-wee  what  he 
meant. 

"I  guess  I  know  about  you,"  he  said,  "because 
I  heard  about  your — getting  away.  But,  any- 
way, if  you  let  me  go  away  I  won't  tell  anyone  I 
saw  you.  I  don't  want  to  camp  here  now.  I'll 
promise  not  to  go  and  tell  people,  if  that's  what 
you're  afraid  of." 

"Wot's  in  that  bag?"  asked  the  man. 

"My  camping  things." 

"Got  any  grub?" 

T'I've  got  two  biscuits  and  some  chocolate." 

"Gimme  it,"  said  the  man,  coming  closer. 

He  snatched  the  food  as  fast  as  it  was  taken 
out  of  the  bag,  and  Pee-wee  surmised  that  he  had 
not  eaten  since  his  escape  from  prison  for  he 
devoured  it  ravenously  like  a  famished  beast. 


PEE-WEE'S  ADVENTURE  115 

"Got  any  more?"  he  asked,  glaring  into  the 
boy's  face  menacingly. 

"No,  I'm  sorry  I  haven't.  I  escaped,  too,  as 
you  might  say,  from  my  friends — from  the  fellers 
I  was  with.  And  I  only  brought  a  little  with 
me." 

After  a  few  minutes  (doubtless  from  the  stimu- 
lating effects  of  the  food),  the  convict's  fear 
seemed  to  subside  somewhat  and  he  spoke  a  little 
more  freely.  But  Pee-wee  found  it  very  unpleas- 
ant being  shut  in  with  him  there  in  the  darkness, 
for,  of  course,  the  flashlight  could  not  be  kept 
burning  all  the  time. 

"I  wouldn't  do  yer  no  hurt,"  he  assured  Pee- 
wee.  "I  t'ought  mebbe  yer  wuz  a  de-coy.  Yer 
ain't,  are  ye?"  he  asked  suspiciously. 

"No,  I'm  not,"  said  Pee-wee.  "I'm  just  what 
I  told  you " 

"I  ain't  goin'  ter  leave  ye  go  free,  so  ye  might's 
well  shut  up.  I  seen  pals  double-cross  me — them 
ez  I  trusted,  too.  Yer  square,  I  guess — only  in- 
nercent." 

'I'd  keep  my  word  even  with — I'd  keep  my 
word  with  you,"  said  Pee-wee,  "just  the  same  as 
with  anyone.  Besides,  I  don't  see  what's  the  use 
of  keeping  me  here.     You'll  have  to  let  me  go 


n6    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

some  time,  you  can't  keep  me  here  forever,  and 
you  can't  stay  here  forever,  yourself." 

"If  ye  stan'  right  'n'  show  ye're  game,"  said 
the  convict,  "thar  won't  no  hurt  come  to  ye.  This 
here  car's  way-billed  fer  Buff'lo,  'n'  I'm  waitin' 
ter  be  took  up  now.  It's  a  grain  car.  Yer  ain't 
goin'  ter  peach  wot  I  tell  ye,  now?  I  wuz  put 
wise  to  it  afore  I  come  out  by  a  railroad  bloke.  I 
had  it  straight  these  here  cars  would  be  picked  up 
fer  Buff'lo  the  nex'  day  after  I  done  my  trick. 
But  they  ain't  took  'em  up  yet,  an'  I'm  close  ter 
starvin'  here." 

Pee-wee  could  not  help  but  feel  a  certain  sym- 
pathy with  this  man,  wretch  though  he  was,  who 
on  the  information  of  some  accomplice  outside 
the  prison,  had  made  his  escape  expecting  to  be 
carried  safely  away  the  next  day  and  had  been 
crouching,  half-starved,  in  this  freight  car  ever 
since,  waiting. 

"What  will  you  do  if  they  don't  take  up  the  car 
for  a  week?"  he  asked.  "They  might  look  inside 
of  it,  too;  or  they  might  change  their  minds  about 
taking  it." 

He  was  anxious  for  himself  for  he  contemplated 
with  terror  his  threatened  imprisonment,  but  he 
could  not  help  being  concerned  also  for  this  mis- 


PEE-WEE'S  ADVENTURE  117 

erable  creature  and  he  wondered  what  would  hap- 
pen if  they  both  remained  in  the  car  for  several 
days  more,  with  nothing  to  eat.  Then,  surely,  the 
man  would  be  compelled  to  put  a  little  faith  in 
him  and  let  him  go  out  in  search  of  food.  He 
wondered  what  he  should  do  in  that  case — what 
he  ought  to  do;  it  that,  he  realized,  was  borrow- 
ing trouble.  Mr.  Ellsworth,  his  scoutmaster,  had 
once  said  that  it  is  always  bad  to  play  false.  Well, 
then,  would  it  be  bad  to  play  false  with  an  escaped 
felon — to  double-cross  him?  Pee-wee  did  not 
know. 

His  companion  interrupted  his  train  of  thought. 
"They  don'  look  inside  o'  way-billed  empties — 
not  much,"  he  said,  "an'  they  don't  let  'em  stan' 
so  long,  nuther.  I  got  bad  luck,  I  did,  from  doin' 
my  trick  on  a  Friday.  They'll  be  'long  pretty 
quick,  though.  They  reckisitioned  all  th'  empty 
grain  cars  fer  Bufi'lo.  I'm  lookin'  ter  hear  th' 
whistle  any  minute,  I  am,  an'  I  got  a  pal  waitin' 
fer  me  in  the  yards  up  ter  Buff'lo,  wid  the  duds. 
When  I  get  there  'n'  get  me  clo's  changed,  mebbe 
I'll  leave  ye  come  back  if  me  pal  'n'  me  thinks  ye 
kin  be  trusted.'' 

"I  can  be  trusted  now  just  as  much  as  I  could 
be  trusted  then,"  said  Pee-wee,  greatly  disturbed 


n8     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

at  the  thought  of  this  enforced  journey;  "and 
how  could  I  get  back?  I  guess  maybe  you  don't 
know  anything  about  scouts — maybe  they  weren't 

started  when  you  were Anyway,  a  scout  can 

be  trusted.  Anybody'll  tell  you  that.  If  he  gives 
his  word  he'll  keep  it.  I  don't  know  anything 
about  what  you  did  and  if  you  ask  me  if  I  want  to 
see  you  get  captured  I  couldn't  tell  you,  because 
I  don't  know  how  I  feel.  But  if  you'll  let  me  go 
now  I'll  promise  not  to  say  anything  to  anyone. 
I  don't  want  to  go  to  Buffalo.  I  want  to  go  to 
my  camp.  As  long  as  I  know  about  you,  you  got 
to  trust  me  some  time  and  you  might  as  well  trust 
me  now." 

If  the  fugitive  could  have  seen  Pee-wee's  earn- 
est face  and  honest  eyes  as  he  made  this  pitiful  ap- 
peal, he  might  have  softened  a  little,  even  if  he 
had  not  appreciated  the  good  sense  of  the  boy's 
remarks. 

"I'd  ruther  get  me  other  duds  on  fust,  'n'  I'd 
like  fer  ter  hev  ye  meet  me  pal,"  he  said,  with  the 
first  touch  of  humor  he  had  shown.  "Now,  if  yer 
go  ter  cuttin'  up  a  rumpus  I'll  jest  hev  ter  brain 
ye,  see  r 

Pee-wee  leaned  back  against  the  side  of  the  car 
in  the  darkness  as  despair  seized  him.    He  had  al- 


PEE- WEE'S  ADVENTURE  119 

ways  coveted  adventure  but  this  was  too  much 
and  he  felt  himself  to  be  utterly  helpless  in  this 
dreadful  predicament.  Even  as  he  stood  there  in 
a  state  of  pitiable  consternation,  a  shrill  whistle 
sounded  in  the  distance,  which  was  echoed  back 
from  the  unseen  hills. 

"Dat's  a  freight,"  said  the  convict,  quickly. 

Pee-wee  listened  and  his  last  flickering  hope  was 
extinguished  as  he  recognized  the  discordant  rat- 
tle and  bang  of  the  slow-moving  train,  emphasized 
by  the  stillness  of  the  night.  Nearer  and  nearer 
it  came  and  louder  grew  the  clank  and  clamor  of 
the  miscellaneous  procession  of  box  cars.  It  was 
a  freight,  all  right, 

"If — if  you'll  let  me  get  out,"  Pee-wee  began, 
on  the  very  verge  of  a  panic,  "if  you'll  let  me  get 
out " 

The  convict  fumblingly  took  him  by  the  throat. 
He  could  feel  the  big,  coarse,  warm  fingers  press- 
ing into  the  sides  of  his  neck  and  it  gagged  him. 

"If  yer  open  yer  head  when  we're  bein'  took 
up,  Til  brain  yer,  hear  that?"  he  said.  "Gimme 
that  light,  gimme  yer  knife." 

He  flashed  on  the  light,  tore  the  scout  knife 
from  Pee-wee's  beh,  and  flung  the  frightened  boy 
against  the  side  of  the  car.      Keeping  the  light 


120    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

pointed  at  him,  he  opened  the  knife.  The  spirit 
of  desperate  resolve  seemed  to  have  reawakened 
within  him  at  the  sound  of  that  long-hoped-for 
train  and  Pee-wee  was  no  more  to  him  than  an  in- 
sect to  have  his  life  trampled  out  if  he  could  not 
be  used  or  if  his  use  were  unavailing.  Here,  un- 
masked, was  the  man  who  had  braved  the  tempes- 
tuous river  on  that  dreadful  night.  Truly,  as  the 
sheriff  had  said,  "desperate  characters  will  take 
desperate  chances." 

"If  yer  open  yer  head  or  call  out  or  make  a  noise 
wid  yer  feet  or  poun'  de  side  o'  de  car  or  start 
a-bawlin'  I'll  bran/ ye,  ye  hear?  Nobody  gets  me 
alive.  An'  if  anybody  comes  in  here  'cause  o'  you 
makin'  a  noise  and  cryin'  fer  help,  yer'll  be  the 
fust  to  git  croaked — see?" 

He  pointed  the  light  straight  at  Pee-wee,  hold- 
ing the  open  jack-knife  in  his  other  hand,  and 
glared  at  him  with  a  look  which  struck  terror  to 
the  boy's  heart.  Pee-wee  was  too  frightened  and 
exhausted  to  answer.  He  only  shook  his  head  in 
acknowledgment,  breathing  heavily. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  train  had  come  abreast  of 
them  and  stopped.  They  could  hear  the  weary 
puffing  of  the  engine,  and  voices  calling  and  occa- 
sionally they  caught  the  gleam  of  a  lantern  through 


PEE-WEE'S  ADVENTURE  121 

the  crack  in  the  car.  Pee-wee  remained  very  still. 
The  convict  took  his  stand  in  the  middle  of  the 
car  between  the  two  sliding  doors,  lowering  and 
alert,  holding  the  flashlight  and  the  clasp  knife. 

Soon  the  train  moved  again,  then  stopped. 
There  were  calls  from  one  end  of  it  to  the  other. 
Then  it  started  again  and  continued  to  move  until 
Pee-wee  thought  it  was  going  away,  and  his  hope 
revived  at  the  thought  thrt  escape  might  yet  be 
possible.  Then  the  sound  came  nearer  again  and 
presently  the  car  received  a  jolt,  accompanied  by 
a  bang.  The  convict  was  thrown  a  little,  but  he 
resumed  his  stand,  waiting,  desperate,  menacing. 
These  few  minutes  must  have  been  dreadful  ones 
to  him  as  he  watched  the  two  doors,  knife  in  hand. 

Then  came  more  shunting  and  banging  and 
calling  and  answering,  a  short,  shrill  whistle  and 
more  moving  and  then  at  last  the  slow,  continuous 
progress  of  the  car,  which  was  evidently  now  at 
last  a  part  of  that  endless  miscellaneous  proces- 
_  sion,  rattling  along  through  the  night  with  its  in- 
•  numerable  companions. 

"It's  lucky  for  them,"  said  the  convict,  through 
his  teeth,  as  he  relaxed. 

Pee-wee  hardly  knew  what  he  meant,  he  had 
scarcely  any  interest,  and  it  was  difficult  to  hear 


122     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

on  account  of  the  noise.  Pie  was  too  shaken  up 
to  think  clearly,  but  he  wondered,  as  the  rattling 
train  moved  slowly  along,  how  long  he  could  go 
without  food,  how  he  would  get  ack  from  Buf- 
falo, and  whether  this  dreadful  companion  of  his 
would  take  his  stnnd,  like  an  animal  at  bay,  when- 
ever the  train  stop   -  d. 

After  a  little  -  >  e,  when  he  was  able  to  get  a 
better  grip  on  himself  and  realize  fully  his  terrible 
plight,  he  began  to  t  nk  how,  after  all,  the  scout, 
with  all  his  resource  and  fine  courage,  his  tracking 
and  his  trailing  and  his  good  turns,  is  pretty  help- 
less in  a  real  dilemma.  Here  was  an  adventure, 
and  rather  too  much  of  a  one,  and  neither  he  nor 
any  other  scout  could  extricate  him  from  his  pre- 
dicament. In  books  they  could  have  done  it  with 
much  brave  talk,  but  in  real  life  they  could  do 
nothing.  He  was  tired  and  frightened  and  help- 
less; the  shock  of  the  pressure  of  those  brutal  fin- 
gers about  his  neck  still  distressed  him,  and  his 
head  ached  from  it  all. 

What  wonder  if  in  face  of  this  tragical  real- 
ity, the  scouts  with  all  their  much  advertised  re- 
source and  prowess  should  lose  prestige  a  little  in 
his  thoughts?  Yet  it  might  have  been  worth  while 
for  him  to  pause  and  reflect  that  though  the  scout 


PEE-WEE'S  ADVENTURE  123 

arm  Is  neither  brutal  nor  menacing,  it  still  has  an 
exceedingly  long  reach  and  that  it  can  pin  you 
just  as  surely  as  the  cruel  fingers  which  had  fixed 
themselves  on  his  own  throat. 

But  he  was  too  terrified  and  exhausted  to  think 
very  clearly  about  anything. 


CHAPTER  XI 

TRACKS   AND   TRAILING 

When  the  engineer  blew  the  whistle  which  the 
convict  had  heard  with  such  satisfaction  and  Pee- 
wee  with  such  dread,  it  was  by  way  of  warning 
two  dark  figures  which  were  about  to  cross  the 
tracks.  Something  bright  which  they  carried 
shone  in  the  glare  of  the  headlight. 

"Here  comes  a  freight,"  said  Tom. 

"Let  it  come,  I  can't  stop  it,"  said  Roy.  "Jeru- 
salem, this  can  is  heavy." 

"Same  here,"  said  Tom. 

"I  wouldn't  carry  another  can  of  gas  this  far 
for  a  prince's  ransom — whatever  in  the  dickens 
that  is.  Look  at  the  blisters  on  my  hand,  will 
you?  Gee,  I'm  so  hungry  I  could  eat  a  package 
of  tacks.  I  bet  Pee-wee's  been  throwing  duck  fits. 
Never  mind,  we  did  a  good  turn.  'We  seen  our 
duty  and  we  done  it  noble.'  Some  grammar! 
They  ought  to  put  us  on  the  cover  of  the  manual. 
Boy  scouts  returning  from  a  gasoline  hunt !     Good 

124 


' 


TRACKS  AND  TRAILING  125 

turn,  turn  down  the  gas,  hey?  Did  you  ever  try 
tracking  a  freight  train?     It's  terribly  exciting." 

"Keep  still,  will  you!"  said  Tom,  setting  down 
his  can.  "Can't  you  see  I'm  spilling  the  gasoline? 
Don't  make  me  laugh." 

"The  face  with  the  smile  wins,"  Roy  rattled 
on.     "For  he  ain't  no  slouch,  but  the  lad  with  the 

grouch Pick  up  your  can  and  get  off  the 

track — safety  first!" 

"Well,  then,  for  goodness'  sake,  shut  up !" 
laughed  Tom. 

It  had  been  like  this  all  the  way  back,  Tom  set- 
ting down  his  can  at  intervals  and  laughing  in  spite 
of  himself  at  Roy's  nonsense. 

When  they  reached  the  boat  Roy  looked  inside 
and  called  Pee-wee. 

"Where  is  our  young  hero,  anyway?"  he 
said. 

But  "our  young  hero"  was  not  there.  They 
poured  the  gas  into  the  tank  and  then  went  inside 
where  Roy  discovered  the  note  in  the  saucepan. 
He  read  it,  then  handed  it  to  Tom  and  the  two 
stood  for  a  moment  staring  at  each  other,  too  sur- 
prised to  speak. 

"What  do  you  suppose  has  got  into  him?"  ex- 
claimed Tom. 


126    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"Search  me;  unless  he's  mad  because  we  left 
him  here." 

Tom  looked  about  as  if  in  search  of  some  ex- 
planation, and  as  usual  his  scrutiny  was  not  un- 
fruitful. 

"It  looks  as  if  he  had  started  to  get  supper," 
said  he:  "there's  the  rice " 

A  sudden  inspiration  seized  Roy.  Pulling  out 
the  recipe  book  from  his  duffel  bag  he  opened  it 
where  the  letter  to  Mary  Temple  lay.  "I  thought 
so,"  he  said  shamefacedly.  "I  left  the  end  of  it 
sticking  out  to  mark  the  place  and  now  it's  in  be- 
tween the  leaves.  That's  what  did  the  mischief; 
he  must  have  found  it." 

"You  ought  to  have  torn  it  up  before  we 
started,"  said  Tom. 

"I  know  it,  but  I  just  stuck  it  in  there  when  I 
was  brushing  up  my  memory  on  rice  cakes,  and 
there  it's  been  ever  since.  I  ought  never  to  have 
written  it  at  all,  if  it  comes  to  that." 

Tom  made  no  answer.  They  had  never  men- 
tioned that  incident  which  was  such  an  unpleasant 
memory  to  them  both. 

"Well,  we've  got  to  find  him,  that's  all,"  said 
Tom. 

"Gee,  it  seems  as  if  we  couldn't  possibly  get 


TRACKS  AND  TRAILING  127 

along  without  Pee-wee  now,"  Roy  said.  "I  never 
realized  how  much  fun  it  would  be  having  him 
along.     Poor  kid!     It  serves  me  right  for " 

"What's  the  use  of  thinking  about  that  now?" 
said  Tom,  bluntly.  "We've  just  got  to  find  him. 
Come  on,  hurry  up,  get  your  flashlight.  Every 
minute  we  wait  he's  a  couple  of  hundred  feet  far- 
ther away." 

For  the  first  time  in  all  their  trip,  as  it  seemed 
to  Roy,  Tom's  spirit  and  interest  were  fully 
aroused.  He  was  as  keen  as  a  bloodhound  for 
the  trail  and  instinctively  Roy  obeyed  him. 

They  hurried  out  without  waiting  for  so  much 
as  a  bite  to  eat  and  with  the  aid  of  their  flashlights 
(and  thanks  to  the  recent  rains)  had  no  difficulty 
in  trailing  Pee-wee  as  far  as  the  railroad  tracks. 

"He'd  either  follow  the  track,"  said  Tom,  "or 
else  the  road  we  took  and  hide  somewhere  till  we 
passed.  He  wouldn't  try  any  cross-country  busi- 
ness at  night,  I  don't  believe." 

"Poor  kid!"  was  all  Roy  could  say.  The 
thought  of  that  note  which  he  had  carelessly  left 
about  and  of  Pee-wee  starting  out  alone  haunted 
him  and  made  him  feel  like  a  scoundrel.  All  his 
gayety  had  vanished  and  he  depended  on  Tom  and 
followed  his  lead.    Pie  remembered  only  too  well 


128     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

the  wonderful  tracking  stunt  that  Tom  had  done 
the  previous  summer,  and  now,  as  he  looked  at 
that  rather  awkward  figure,  kneeling  with  head 
low,  and  creeping  along  from  tie  to  tie,  oblivious 
to  all  but  his  one  purpose,  he  felt  a  certain  thrill 
of  confidence.  By  a  sort  of  unspoken  understand- 
ing, he  (who  was  the  most  all-round  scout  of  them 
all  and  looked  it  into  the  bargain)  had  acted  as 
their  leader  and  spokesman  on  the  trip;  and  Tom 
Slade,  who  could  no  more  talk  to  strangers,  and 
especially  girls,  than  he  could  fly,  had  followed, 
envying  Roy's  easy  manner  and  all-around  profic- 
iency. But  Tom  was  a  wizard  in  tracking,  and  as 
Roy  watched  him  now  he  could  not  help  realizing 
with  a  pang  of  shame  that  again  it  was  Tom  who 
had  come  to  the  rescue  to  save  him  from  the  re- 
sults of  his  own  selfishness  and  ill-temper.  He  re- 
membered those  words,  spoken  in  Tom's  stolid 
way  on  the  night  of  their  quarrel.  "It's  kind  cf 
like  a  trail  in  your  mind  and  I  got  to  hit  the  right 
trail."  He  had  hit  the  right  trail  then  and  brought 
Roy  to  his  senses,  and  now  again  when  that  rude, 
selfish  note  cropped  up  to  work  mischief  it  was 
Tom  who  knelt  down  there  on  the  railroad  tracks, 
seeking  again  for  the  right  trail. 

"Here  it  is,"  he  said  at  last,  when  he  had  closely 


TRACKS  AND  TRAILING  129 

examined  and  smelt  of  a  dark  spot  on  one  of  the 
ties.  "Lucky  you  let  him  clean  the  engine;  he 
must  have  been  standing  in  the  oil  trough." 

"Good  he  had  his  sneaks  on,  too,"  said  Roy, 
stooping.  "It's  like  a  stamp  on  a  pound  of  but- 
ter." 

It  was  not  quite  as  clear  as  that,  but  if  Pee-wee 
had  prepared  his  sneaks  especially  for  making 
prints  on  wooden  ties  he  could  scarcely  have  done 
better.  In  order  to  get  at  the  main  bearings  of 
the  engine  he  had,  with  characteristic  disregard, 
stood  plunk  in  the  copper  drain  basin  under  the 
crank-case.  The  oil  had  undoubtedly  softened  the 
rubber  sole  of  his  sneakers  so  that  it  held  the  cling- 
ing substance,  and  in  some  cases  it  was  possible 
to  distinguish  on  the  ties  the  half-obliterated  criss- 
cross design  of  the  rubber  sole. 

"Come  on,"  said  Tom,  "this  thing  is  a 
cinch." 

"It's  a  shame  to  call  it  tracking,"  said  Roy,  re- 
gaining some  measure  of  his  wonted  spirits  as  they 
hurried  along.     "It's  a  blazed  trail." 

And  so,  indeed,  it  was  while  it  lasted,  but  sud- 
denly it  ceased  and  the  boys  paused,  puzzled. 

"Listen  for  trains,"  warned  Tom. 

"There  won't  be  any  along  yet  a  while,"  said 


130    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

Roy.  "There's  one  stopped  up  there  a  ways 
now." 

They  could  hear  the  shunting  up  the  track,  in- 
terspersed with  faint  voices  calling. 

"Here's  where  he's  put  one  over  on  us,"  said 
Roy.     "Poor  kid." 

"Here's  where  he's  been  reading  Sir  Baden- 
Powell,  you  mean.  Wait  till  I  see  if  he  worked 
the  boomerang  trick.     See  that  tree  up  there?" 

It  was  amazing  how  readily  Tom  assumed  that 
Pee-wee  would  do  just  what  he  had  done  to  elude 
pursuit. 

"Tree's  always  a  suspicious  thing,"  said  he; 
"this  is  a  Boer  wrinkle — comes  from  South 
Africa." 

He  did  not  bother  hunting  for  the  tracks  in  the 
hubbly  ground,  but  made  straight  for  the  tree. 

"Poor  kid,"  was  all  he  could  say  as  he  picked 
up  a  few  freshly  fallen  leaves  and  a  twig  or  two. 
"He's  good  at  climbing  anyway."  He  examined 
one  of  the  leaves  carefully  with  his  flashlight. 
"Squint  around,"  he  said  to  Roy,  "and  see  if  you 
can  find  where  he  stuck  his  staff  in  the  ground." 

Roy  got  down,  poking  his  light  here  and  there, 
and  parting  the  rough  growth. 

"Here  it  is,"  said  he. 


TRACKS  AND  TRAILING  131 

Oh,  it  was  all  easy — too  easy,  for  a  scout.  It 
gave  them  no  feeling  of  triumph,  only  pity  for  the 
stout-hearted  little  fellow  who  had  tried  to  escape 
them. 

A  more  careful  examination  of  the  lower 
branches  of  the  tree  and  of  the  ground  beneath 
was  enough.  Tom  did  not  even  bother  about  the 
prints  leading  back  to  the  railroad,  but  went  back 
to  the  tracks  and  after  a  few  minutes  picked  up 
the  trail  again  there.  This  they  followed  till  they 
came  to  the  siding,  now  deserted. 

Here,  for  a  few  minutes,  it  did  seem  as  if  Pee- 
wee  had  succeeded  in  baffling  them,  for  the  prints 
leaving  the  ties  ran  over  to  the  siding  and  there 
ended  in  a  confused  collection  of  footprints  point- 
ing in  every  direction.  Evidently,  Pee-wee  had 
paused  here,  but  what  direction  he  had  taken  from 
this  point  they  could  not  see. 

"This  has  got  me  guessing,"  said  Tom. 

"He  was  tangoing  around  here,"  said  Roy, 
pointing  his  flashlight  to  the  ground,  "that's  sure. 
Maybe  the  little  Indian  walked  the  rail." 

But  an  inspection  of  the  rail  showed  that  he  had 
not  done  that,  unless,  indeed,  the  recent  rain  had 
obliterated  the  marks. 

They    examined    the    platform    carefully,    the 


132     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

steps,  the  one  or  two  hogsheads,  but  no  sign  did 
they  reveal. 

"It  gets  me,"  said  Tom,  as  they  sat  down  on 
the  edge  of  the  platform,  dangling  their  legs. 

"He  swore  he  wouldn't  go  near  a  railroad — 
remember?"  said  Roy,  smiling  a  little  wistfully. 

Tom  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"It's  all  my  fault,"  said  Roy. 

"Meanwhile,  we're  losing  time,"  said  Tom. 

"You  don't  suppose "  began  Roy.    "Where 

do  you  suppose  that  freight  stopped?     Here?" 

Tom  said  nothing  for  a  few  moments.  Then  he 
jumped  down  and  kneeling  with  his  light  began 
again  examining  the  confusion  of  footprints  near 
the  siding.  Roy  watched  him  eagerly.  He  felt 
guilty  and  discouraged.  Tom  was  apparently  ab- 
sorbed with  some  fresh  thought.  Around  one 
footprint  he  drew  a  ring  in  the  soil.  Then  he  got 
up  and  crept  along  by  the  rail  throwing  his  light 
upon  it.  About  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  along  this 
he  paused,  and  crossing  suddenly,  examined  the 
companion  rail  exactly  opposite.  Then  he  straight- 
ened up. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Roy.  But  he  got  no  an- 
swer. 

Tom  went  back  along  the  rail  till  he  came  to  a 


TRACKS  AND  TRAILING  133 

point  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  in  the  other  direction 
from  the  group  of  footprints,  and  here  he  made 
another  careful  scrutiny  of  both  rails.  The  group 
of  footprints  was  outside  the  track  and  midway  be- 
tween the  two  points  in  which  he  seemed  so  much 
interested. 

"This  is  the  end  of  our  tracking,"  he  said  at 
length. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Come  here  and  I'll  show  you.  See  that  foot- 
print— it's  only  half  a  one — the  front  half — see? 
That's  the  last  one  of  the  lot.  That's  where  he 
climbed  into  the  car — see?" 

Roy  stood  speechless. 

"See?  Now  come  here  and  I'll  show  you  some- 
thing. See  those  little  rusty  places  on  the  track? 
It's  fresh  rust — see?  You  can  wipe  it  off  with 
your  finger.  There's  where  the  wheels  were — 
see?  One,  two,  three,  four — same  on  the  other 
side,  see?  And  down  there,"  pointing  along  the 
track,  "it's  the  same  way.  If  it  hadn't  been  rain- 
ing this  week,  we'd  never  known  about  a  freight 
car  being  stalled  here,  hey?  See,  those  footprints 
are  just  half-way  between  the  rusty  spots.  There's 
where  the  door  was.  See?  This  little  front  half 
of  a  footprint  tells  the  story.     He  had  to  climb 


i34    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

to  get  in — poor  kid.  He  went  on  a  railroad  train, 
after  all." 

Roy  could  say  nothing.  He  could  only  stare 
as  Tom  pointed  here  and  there  and  fitted  things 
together  like  a  picture  puzzle.  The  car  was  gone, 
but  it  had  left  its  marks,  just  as  the  boy  had. 

"You  put  it  into  my  head  when  you  mentioned 
the  train,"  said  Tom. 

"Oh,  sure;  /  put  it  into  your  head,"  said  Roy, 
in  disgust.  "Vm  a  wonderful  scout — /  ought  to 
have  a  tin  medal!  It  was  you  brought  me  that 
letter  back.  It  was  Pee-wee  got  the  bird  down 
and  won  a  boat  for  us — and  I've  turned  him  out 
of  it,"  he  added,  bitterly. 

"No,  you " 

"Yes,  I  have.  And  it  was  you  that  tracked 
him,  and  it  was  you  spelled  this  out  and  it's  you — 
it's  just  like  you,  too — to  turn  around  and  say  I 
put  it  into  your  head.  The  only  thing  I've  done 
in  this  whole  blooming  business  is  try  to  insult 
Mary  Temple — only — only  you  wouldn't  let  me 
get  away  with  it,"  he  stammered. 

"Roy,"  interrupted  Tom,  "listen — just  a  min- 
ute."    He  had  never  seen  Roy  like  this  before. 

"Come  on,"  said  Roy,  sharply.  "You've  done 
all  you  could.    Come  on  back!" 


TRACKS  AND  TRAILING  135 

Tom  was  not  much  at  talking,  but  seeing  his 
friend  in  this  state  seemed  to  give  him  words  and 
he  spoke  earnestly  and  with  a  depth  of  feeling. 

"It's  always  you,"  said  Roy.     "It's " 

"Roy,"  said  Tom,  "don't — wait  a  minute — 
please.  When  we  got  back  to  the  boat  I  said  we'd 
have  to  find  him — don't  go  on  like  that,  Roy — 
please !  I  thought  I  could  find  him.  But  you  see 
I  can't — /  can't  find  him." 

"You  can  make  these  tracks  talk  to  you.  I'm 
a " 

"No,  you're  not;  listen,  please.  I  said — you 
remember  how  I  said  I  wanted  to  be  alone  with 
you — you  remember?  Well,  now  we  are  alone, 
and  it's  going  to  be  you  to  do  it,  Roy;  it's  going 
to  be  you  to  bring  Pee-wee  back.  Just  the  same  as 
you  made  me  a  scout  a  year  ago,  you  remember? 
You're  the  only  one  can  do  it,  Roy,"  he  put  his 
hand  on  Roy's,  shoulder,  "and  I'll — I'll  help  you. 
And  it'll  seem  like  old  times — sort  of — Roy.  But 
you're  the  one  to  do  it.  You  haven't  forgotten 
about  the  searchlight,  have  you,  Roy?  You  re- 
member how  you  told  me  about  the  scout's  arm 
having  a  long  reach?  You  remember,  Roy? 
Come  on,  hurry  up!" 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  LONG  ARM  OF  THE  SCOUT 

As  Tom  spoke,  there  came  rushing  into  Roy's 
memory  as  vivid  as  the  searchlight's  shaft,  a  cer- 
tain dark  night  a  year  before  when  Tom  Slade, 
hoodlum,  had  stood  by  his  side  and  with  eyes  of 
wonder  watched  him  flash  a  message  from  Blake- 
ley's  Hill  to  the  city  below  to  undo  a  piece  of 
vicious  mischief  of  which  Tom  had  been  guilty. 
He  had  turned  the  heavens  into  an  open  book  for 
Westy  Martin,  miles  away,  to  read  what  he 
should  do. 

A  thrill  of  new  hope  seized  Roy. 

"So  you  see  it  will  be  you,  Roy." 

"It  has  to  be  you  to  remind  me  of  it." 

"Shut  up  I"  said  Tom. 

They  ran  for  the  boat  at  top  speed,  for,  as  they 
both  realized,  it  was  largely  a  fight  against  time. 

"That  train  was  dragging  along  pretty  slow 
when  it  passed  us"  said  Tom. 

"Sure,  9bout  a  million  cars,"  Roy  panted. 
136 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  THE  SCOUT    137 

"There's  an  up-grade,  too,  I  think,  between  here 
and  Poughkeepsie.  Be  half  an  hour,  anyway,  be- 
fore they  make  it.  You're  a  wonder.  We'll  kid 
the  life  out  of  Pee-wee  for  riding  on  a  train  after 
all.    'Spose  he  did  it  on  purpose  or  got  locked  in?" 

"Locked  in,  I  guess,"  said  Tom.  "Let's  try 
scout  pace,  I'm  getting  winded." 

The  searchlight  which  had  been  an  important 
adjunct  of  the  old  Nymph  had  not  been  used  on 
the  Good  Turn,  for  the  reason  that  the  boys  had 
not  run  her  at  night.  It  was  an  acetylene  light  of 
splendid  power  and  many  a  little  craft  Harry  Stan- 
ton had  picked  up  with  it  in  his  nocturnal  cruis- 
ing. Pee-wee  had  polished  its  reflector  one  day 
to  pass  the  time,  but  with  the  exception  of  that  at- 
tention it  had  lain  in  one  of  the  lockers. 

Reaching  the  boat  they  pulled  the  light  out,  con- 
nected it  up,  and  found  to  their  delight  that  it  was 
in  good  working  order. 

"My  idea,"  said  Roy,  now  all  excitement,  "is  to 
flash  it  from  that  hill,  then  from  the  middle  of  the 
river.  Of  course,  it's  a  good  deal  a  question  of 
luck,  but  it  seems  as  if  somebody  ought  to  catch  it, 
in  all  these  places  along  the  river.  Be  great  if 
we  could  find  him  to-night,  hey?" 

"They'd  just  have  to  hold  him  till  we  could  get 


138    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

there  in  the  boat — they  couldn't  get  him  back 
here." 

"No  sooner  said  than  stung,"  said  Roy;  "hurry 
up,  bring  that  can,  and  some  matches  and — yes, 
you  might  as  well  bring  the  Manual  anyway, 
thought  I  know  that  code  backwards." 

"You're  right  you  do,"  said  Tom. 

He  was  glad  to  see  Roy  himself  again  and  tak- 
ing the  lead,  as  usual. 

"If  there  was  only  one  of  these  telegraph  oper- 
ators— guys,  as  I  used  to  call  them — star-gazing, 
we'd  pass  the  word  to  him,  all  right." 

"A  word  to  the  guys,  hey?     Come  on,  hustle !" 

A  strenuous  climb  brought  them  to  the  brow  of 
a  hill  from  which  the  lights  of  several  villages, 
and  the  more  numerous  lights  of  Poughkeepsie 
could  be  seen. 

"Now,  Tomasso,  see-a  if  you  know-a  de  lesson 
— queeck!  Connect  that  up  and — look  out  you 
don't  step  on  the  tube !  I  wish  we  had  a  pedestal 
or  something.  When  you're  roaming,  you  have 
to  do  as  the  Romans  do,  hey?  Open  your  Manual 
to  page  232.  No!"  he  said  hurriedly  looking 
over  Tom's  shoulder.  "Care  of  the  fingernails! 
That's  259  you've  got.  What  do  you  think  we're 
going  to  do,  start  a  manicure  parlor?     There  you 


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KOY    SENT    THREE    SHORT    FLASHES    INTO    THE    NIGHT. 

Page  139 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  THE  SCOUT    139 

are — now  keep  the  place  to  make  assurance  doubly 
sure.  Here  goes!  Hello,  folks!"  he  called,  as 
he  swung  the  long  shaft  fan-wise  across  the  heav- 
ens.    "Now,  three  dots  for  S?" 

"Right,"  said  Tom. 

Roy  sent  three  short  flashes  into  the  night,  then 
paused  and  sent  a  longer  flash  of  about  three  sec- 
onds. Another  pause,  then  three  of  the  longer 
flashes,  then  a  short  one,  two  long  ones  and  a  short 
one. 

"S-T-O-P— stop,"  he  said. 

"Right-o,"  concurred  Tom. 

"Now  F — two  shorts,  a  long  and  a  short — is 
it?" 

"You  know  blamed  well  it  is,"  said  Tom. 

Thus  the  message  was  sent. 

"Stop  freight  going  north;  boy  locked  in  car. 
Hold.    Friends  coming  up  river  in  boat  flying  yel- 
low flag" 

They  had  on  board  a  large  yellow  flag  with 
TEMPLE  CAMP  on  it,  and  Roy  thought  of  this 
as  being  the  best  means  of  identifying  the  boat 
for  anyone  who  might  be  watching  for  it  along 
the  shore. 

Three  times  they  flashed  the  message,  then  hur- 
ried back  to  the  boat  and  chugged  out,  anchoring 


i4o    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

in  midstream.  The  course  of  the  river  is  as 
straight  as  an  arrow  here.  The  lights  in  the  small 
towns  of  Milton  and  Camelot  were  visible  on 
either  side ;  tiny  lights  flickered  along  the  railroads 
that  skirted  either  shore,  and  beyond  in  the  dis- 
1  tance  twinkled  the  lights  on  the  great  bridge  at 
Poughkeepsie. 

"We're  right  in  the  steamer's  path  here,"  said 
Tom;  "let's  hurry." 

Roy  played  the  shaft  for  a  minute  to  attract 
attention,  then  threw  his  message  again  and  again 
into  the  skies.  The  long,  bright,  silent  column 
seemed  to  fill  the  whole  heaven  as  it  pierced  the 
darkness  in  short  and  long  flashes.  The  chugging 
of  the  Good  Turn's  engine  was  emphasized  by  the 
solemn  stillness  as  they  ran  in  toward  shore,  and 
the  splash  of  their  dropping  anchor  awakened  a 
faint  echo  from  the  neighboring  mountains. 

"Well,  that's  all  we  can  do  till  morning,"  said 
Roy.    "What  do  you  say  to  some  eats?" 

"Gee,  it's  big  and  wild  and  lonely,  isn't  it?"  said 
/Torn. 

They  had  never  thought  of  the  Hudson  in  this 
way  before. 

After  breakfast  in  the  morning  they  started  up- 
stream, their  big  yellow  camp  flag  flying  and  keep- 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  THE  SCOUT    141 

ing  as  near  the  shore  as  possible  so  as  to  be  within 
hail.  Now  that  the  black  background  of  the  night 
had  passed  and  the  broad  daylight  was  all  about 
them,  their  hope  had  begun  to  wane.  The  spell 
seemed  broken ;  the  cheerful  reality  of  the  morn- 
ing sunlight  upon  the  water  and  the  hills  seemed 
to  dissipate  their  confidence  in  that  long  shaft, 
and  they  saw  the  whole  experience  of  the  night  as 
a  sort  of  fantastic  dream. 

But  Pee-wee  was  gone;  there  was  no  dream 
about  that,  and  the  boat  did  not  seem  like  the  same 
place  without  him. 

The  first  place  they  passed  was  Stoneco,  but 
there  was  no  sign  of  life  near  the  shore,  and  the 
Good  Turn  chugged  by  unheeded.  They  ran 
across  to  Milton  where  a  couple  of  men  lolled  on 
a  wharf  and  a  few  people  were  waiting  at  the  lit- 
tle station.  They  could  not  get  in  very  close  to 
the  shore  on  account  of  the  flats,  but  Roy,  making 
a  megaphone  of  an  old  newspaper,  asked  if  a  flash 
message  had  been  received  there.  After  much 
shouting  back  and  forth,  he  learned  that  the 
searchlight  had  been  seen  but  had  been  thought  to 
be  from  one  of  the  night  boats  plying  up  and  down 
the  river.  It  had  evidently  meant  nothing  to  the 
speaker  or  to  anyone  else  there.     Roy  asked  if 


1 42     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

they  would  please  ask  the  telegraph  operator  if 
he  had  seen  it. 

"He'd  understand  it  all  right,"  he  said,  a  bit 
disheartened.  But  the  answer  came  back  that  the 
operator  had  not  seen  it. 

At  Poughkeepsie  they  made  a  landing  at  the 
wharf.  Here  expressmen  were  moving  trunks 
about,  a  few  stragglers  waiting  for  some  boat 
peered  through  the  gates  like  prisoners;  there  was 
a  general  air  of  bustle  and  a  "city"  atmosphere 
about  the  place.  A  few  people  gathered  about, 
looking  at  the  Good  Turn  and  watching  the  boys 
as  they  made  their  way  up  the  wharf. 

"Boy  Scouts,"  they  heard  someone  say. 

There  was  the  usual  good-natured  curiosity 
which  follows  scouts  when  they  are  away  from 
home  and  which  they  have  come  to  regard  as  a 
matter  of  course,  but  the  big  yellow  flag  seemed 
to  carry  no  particular  meaning  to  anyone  here. 

They  walked  up  to  the  station  where  they  asked 
the  operator  if  he  had  seen  the  searchlight  mes- 
sage or  heard  anything  about  it,  but  he  had  not. 
They  inquired  who  was  the  night  watchman  on  the 
wharf,  hunted  him  out,  and  asked  him.  He  had 
seen  the  light  and  wondered  what  and  where  it 
was.     That  was  all. 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  THE  SCOUT    143 

"Foiled  again!"  said  Roy. 

They  made  inquiries  of  almost  everyone  they 
saw,  going  into  a  nearby  hotel  and  several  of  the 
stores.  They  inquired  at  the  fire  house,  where 
they  thought  men  would  have  been  up  at  night  who 
might  be  expected  to  know  the  Morse  code,  but 
the  spokesman  there  shook  his  head. 

"A  fellow  who  was  with  us  got  locked  in  a 
freight  car,"  Roy  explained,  "and  we  signaled  to 
people  up  this  way  to  stop  the  train." 

The  man  smiled;  apparently  he  did  not  take 
Roy's  explanation  very  seriously.  "Now  if  you 
could  only  get  that  convict  that  escaped  down 
yonaer 

"We  have  no  interest  in  him,"  said  Roy,  shortly. 

He  and  Tom  had  both  counted  on  Poughkeepsie 
with  its  police  force  and  fire  department  and  gen- 
eral wide-awakeness,  and  they  went  back  to  the 
Good  Turn  pretty  well  discouraged,  particularly 
as  the  good  people  of  whom  they  had  inquired  had 
treated  them  with  an  air  of  kindly  indulgence, 
smiling  at  their  story,  saying  that  the  scouts  were 
a  wide-awake  lot,  and  so  forth;  interested,  but 
good-naturedly  skeptical.  One  had  said,  "Are  you 
making  believe  to  telegraph  that  way?  Well,  it's 
good  fun,  anyway."     Another  asked  if  they  had 


144    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

been  reading  dime  novels.  The  patronizing  tone 
had  rather  nettled  the  boys. 

"I'd  like  to  have  told  that  fellow  that  if  we 
had  been  reading  dime  novels,  we  wouldn't  have 
had  time  to  learn  the  Morse  code,"  said  Roy. 

"The  Motor  Boat  Heroes!"  mocked  Tom. 

"Yes,  volume  three  thousand,  and  they  haven't 
learned  how  to  run  a  gas  engine  yet!  Get  out 
your  magnifying  glass,  Tom;  what's  that,  a  vil- 
lage, up  there?" 

"A  house." 

"Some  house,  too,"  said  Roy,  looking  at  the 
diminutive  structure  near  the  shore.  "Put  your 
hand  down  the  chimney  and  open  the  front  door, 
hey?" 

But  as  they  ran  in  nearer  the  shore  other  houses 
showed  themselves  around  the  edge  of  the  hill 
and  here,  too,  was  a  little  wharf  with  several  peo- 
ple upon  it  and  near  it,  on  the  shore,  a  surg- 
ing crowd  on  the  edge  of  which  stood  several 
wagons. 

"Guess  they  must  be  having  a  mass  meeting 
about  putting  a  new  spring  on  the  post-office 
door,"  said  Roy.  "Somebody  ought  to  lay  a  pa- 
perweight on  that  village  a  windy  day  like  this.  It 
might  blow  away.      Close  your  throttle  a  little, 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  THE  SCOUT    145 ' 

Tom  and  put  vour  timer  back;  we'll  run  in  and  see 
what's  up." 

"You  don't  suppose  all  that  fuss  can  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  Pee-wee,  do  you?"  Tom  asked. 

''No,  it  looks  more  as  if  a  German  submarine 
had  landed  there.  There  wouldn't  be  so  much  of 
a  rumpus  if  they'd  got  the  kid." 

But  in  another  moment  Roy's  skeptical  mood 
had  changed  as  he  saw  a  tall,  slender  fellow  in 
brown  standing  at  the  end  of  the  wharf  with  arms 
outspread. 

"What's  he  doing — posing   for  the  movies?" 

"He's  semaphoring,"  Tom  answered. 

"I'll  be  jiggered  if  he  isn't!"  said  Roy,  all  in- 
terest at  once.     "C— O— M— E I—    (he 

makes  his  I  too  much  like  his  C) — N.  What  do 
you  know  about  that!    Come  in!" 

The  stranger  held  what  seemed  to  be  a  large 
white  placard  in  either  hand  in  place  of  a  flag  and 
his  motions  were  not  as  clear-cut  as  they  should 
have  been,  but  to  Roy,  with  whom,  as  he  had 
often  said,  the  semaphore  code  was  like  "pump- 
kin pie,"  the  message  was  plain. 

As  they  ran  alongside  the  wharf  the  khaki-clad 
signaler  greeted  them  with  the  scout  salute. 

"Pretty  brisk  out  on  the  water  this  morning?" 


i46     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

he  said.  "We  got  your  message — we  were  out 
canoeing  last  night ;  you  use  the  International  code, 
don't  you?" 

"Have  you  got  him?"  Roy  asked  anxiously. 

"Oh,  yes,  he's  here;  pulled  in  somewhere 
around  midnight,  I  guess.  He  stayed  all  night 
with  one  of  our  troop;  he's  up  there  now  getting 
his  breakfast.  Great  kid,  isn't  he?"  he  laughed. 
"He  was  telling  us  about  rice  cakes.  We're  kind 
of  out  of  date  up  here,  you  know.  I  was  a  little 
balled  up  on  your  spacing,"  he  added  as  they  went 
up  the  wharf.  "I  haven't  got  the  International 
down  very  good.  Yes,  we  were  drifting  around, 
a  couple  of  us,  telling  Ford  jokes,  when  you  sprung 
it  on  us." 

"Have  you  got  the  signaling  badge?"  said  Roy. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  managed  to  pull  that;  I'm  out  for 
the  star  now." 

"You'll  get  it,"  said  Tom. 

"Is  the  kid  all  right?"  Roy  asked. 

"Oh,  sure;  but  he  had  some  pretty  rough  hand- 
ling, I  guess.  It  was  quite  a  little  movie  show 
when  we  dragged  the  other  one  out.  Lucky  the 
station  agent  and  the  constable  were  there.  He's 
up  there  now  waiting  for  the  men  from  Ossining." 

Through   the   surging   crowd   Tom    and    Roy 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  THE  SCOUT    147 

could  see,  sitting  on  a  bench  at  the  station,  a  man 
in  convict  garb,  with  his  hands  manacled  together 
and  a  guard  on  either  side  of  him.  In  the  broad 
light  of  day  he  was  a  desperate-looking  creature, 
as  he  sat  with  his  ugly  head  hanging  low,  appar- 
ently oblivious  to  all  about  him. 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Roy. 

"Didn't  you  know  about  him?" 

"Not  a  thing — except  we  did  know  someone  got 
away  from  Sing  Sing  the  other  night — but  we 
never  thought " 

"Didn't  you  know  he  was  in  the  same  car? 
That's  why  the  little  fellow  couldn't  get  away. 
He'd  have  come  back  to  you,  sure." 

Roy  doubted  it,  but  he  said  nothing  and  pres- 
ently the  mystery  was  cleared  up  by  the  arrival 
on  the  scene  of  Pee-wee  himself,  accompanied  by 
several  scouts.  They  were  laughing  merrily  and 
seemed  greatly  elated  that  the  boat  had  come;  but 
Pee-wee  was  rather  embarrassed  and  held  back 
until  Roy  dragged  him  forward. 

"Kiddo,"  said  he,  looking  straight  into  the  boy's 
face,  "the  Good  Turn  couldn't  have  lived  another 
day  without  you.  So  you  did  hit  the  railroad  after 
all,  didn't  you?  Gee,  it's  good  to  see  you;  you've 
caused  us  more  worry "  he  put  his  arm  over 


148     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

Pee-wee's  shoulder  and  turned  away  with  him,  and 
the  others,  being  good  scouts,  had  sense  enough 
not  to  follow. 

"Pee-wee,"  said  Roy,  "don't  try  to  tell  me — 
that  can  wait.  Listen,  kiddo.  We're  in  the  same 
boat,  you  and  I.  We  each  wrote  a  letter  that  we 
shouldn't  have  written,  but  yours  was  received 
and  mine  wasn't — thanks  to  Tom.  We've  got 
to  forget  about  both  those  letters,  Pee-wee.  I  was 
ashamed  of  mine  before  I'd  finished  writing  it. 
There's  no  good  talking  about  it  now.  You're 
with  us  because  we  want  you  with  us,  not  because 
Mary  Temple  wanted  it,  but  because  /  want  you 
and  Tom  wants  you;  do  you  hear?  You  know 
who  it  is  that's  always  doing  something  for  some- 
one and  never  getting  any  credit  for  it,  don't  you? 
It's  Tom  Slade.  He  saved  me  from  being  a  crazy 
fool — from  sending  that  letter  to  Mary.  And  I 
came  to  my  senses  the  next  day.  He  tracked  you 
to  that  car,  only  it  always  seems  to  work  around 
so  that  someone  else  gets  all  the  glory.     It  makes 

me  feel  like  a Listen  to  them  over  there 

now,  talking  about  signaling.  Pee-wee,  you  gave 
us  an  awful  scare.  It  didn't  seem  natural  on  top 
of  the  cabin  last  night  without  you — you  little 
mascot!     We're  not  going  to  have  another  word 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  THE  SCOUT    149 

to  say  about  this,  kid — I'm  your  patrol  leader,  re- 
member. We're  going  to  hit  it  straight  for  camp 
now — the  three  of  us — the  Big  Three — and  you're 
with  us  because  we  can't  do  without  you.  Do  you 
get  that?" 

"Roy,"  said  Pee-wee,  speaking  with  difficulty. 
"I — I  had  an — adventure." 

"Well,  I  should  think  you  did." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

TEMPLE    CAMP 

The  scouts  of  the  village  stood  upon  the  wharf 
and  waved  a  last  good-bye  to  the  three  as  the 
Good  Turn  chugged  merrily  away. 

"I'm  going  to  give  that  fellow  the  full  salute," 
said  Tom,  raising  his  hand  to  his  forehead.  "He'« 
a  wonder." 

The  scouts  on  shore  received  this  tribute  to 
their  comrade  with  shouts,  throwing  their  hats  in 
the  air  and  giving  three  lusty  cheers  for  the  "Sil- 
ver Foxes  and  the  Elks"  as  the  launch,  swerving 
out  into  midstream,  bent  her  course  for  Catskili 
Landing. 

"He  sure  is  a  wonder,"  said  Roy. 

"I  told  him  all  about  you,"  chimed  in  Pee-wee, 
"and  all  the  stunts  you  can  do." 

"He  seems  to  be  prouder  of  his  Ford  jokes  than 
of  his  signal  work,"  laughed  Roy.    "He " 

"Oh,  crinkums,  he  knows  some  dandy  Ford 
jokes,  and  his  wrist  is  so  strong  from  paddling 

150 


TEMPLE  CAMP  151 

that  he  can  stick  a  shovel  in  the  ground  and  turn 
k  around  with  one  hand;  oh,  he's  got  that  paddle 
twist  down  fine,  Roy;  but,  gee,  he  says  you're  all 
right;  even  before  you  came  he  said  that;  as  soon 
is  I  told  him  who  it  was  that  signaled " 

"Do  you  think  they'll  come  up?"  Roy  inter- 
rupted. 

"Sure  they  will;  I  told  them  all  about  the  camp 
and  how  they  could  have  a  cabin  to  themselves — 
they're  only  a  small  troop,  one  patrol,  and  he 
wants  to  know  you  better;  gee,  I  told  him  all  about 
you  and  how  you  could " 

"All  right,  kiddo,"  laughed  Roy. 

"They're  coming  up  in  August.  Say,  that  fel- 
low's got  eleven  merit  badges,  but  the  one  thing 
he's  crazy  to  get  is  the  gold  cross." 

"He'll  get  it,"  said  Tom,  who  had  been  wiping 
the  engine. 

"He  says  the  trouble  is,"  added  Pee-wee,  "that 
he  can't  save  anybody's  life  with  great  danger  to 
his  own — that's  what  it  says  in  the  Manual,  isn't 
it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Tom,  quietly. 

"He  says  the  trouble  is  nobody  ever  gets  in 
danger.  The  trouble  with  his  troop  is  they  all 
know  how  to  swim  and  they're  so  blamed  clever 


152     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

that  he  never  has  a  chance  to  rescue  one  of  them. 
He  said  he  tipped  the  canoe  over  with  one  fel- 
low and  the  fellow  just  wouldn't  be  saved;  he 
swam  around  and  dived  and  wouldn't  let  Garry 
imperil  his  life — and  that's  the  only  way  you  can 
do  it,  Roy.  You've  got  to  imperil  your  own  life, 
and  he  says  he  never  gets  a  chance  to  imperil  his 
life." 

"Must  be  discouraging,"  said  Roy. 

"Oh,  jiminys,  you'd  laugh  to  hear  him  talk;  he's 
got  that  quiet  way  about  him,  Roy — sober  like. 
I  told  him  there's  lotS'of  different  ways  a  feller  can 
imperil  his  life." 

"Sure,  fifty-seven  varieties,"  said  Roy.  "Well, 
I'm  glad  they  treated  you  so  well,  kid,  and  I  hope 
we'll  have  a  chance  to  pay  them  back.  What  do 
you  say  we  tie  up  in  Kingston  and  have  a 
soda?" 

Early  the  next  day  they  came  in  sight  of  Catskili 
Landing.  Roy  stood  on  top  of  the  cabin  like 
Columbus,  his  rapt  gaze  fixed  upon  the  dock. 

"We  have  arrove,"  said  he.  "Gee,  I'm  sorry 
it's  over." 

The  trip  had  been  enjoyable,  but  now  their 
every  thought  was  centered  upon  Temple  Camp 
to  which  they  were  so  near  and  they  were  filled 


TEMPLE  CAMP  153 

with  delightful  anticipations  as  they  made  ready 
for  the  hike  which  still  lay  before  them.  The 
boating  club,  with  the  hospitality  which  a  love  of 
the  water  seems  always  to  inspire  in  its  devotees, 
gave  them  a  mooring  buoy  and  from  this,  having 
made  their  boaL  fast,  they  rowed  ashore  and  set 
out  with  staves  and  duffel  bags  for  the  quaint 
little  village  of  Leeds. 

The  distance  to  Leeds  depends  upon  who  is 
making  the  journey,  or  from  whom  you  get  your 
information.  The  farmers  will  tell  you  it  is  five 
miles.  The  summer  boarders  are  likely  to  tell 
you  that  it  is  ten.  To  be  exact,  it  is  somewhere 
between  two  miles  and  twenty  miles,  and  you  can't 
get  back  to  Catskill  Landing  for  dinner. 

"I  think  it's  ten  miles  there  and  twenty  miles 
back,"  said  Roy;  "we  should  worry!  When  we 
get  to  Leeds  we  make  our  grand  dash  for  the 
lake." 

"Like  Peary,"  said  Pee-wee,  already  bubbling 
over  with  excitement. 

"Something  like  him,  yes." 

Their  way  took  them  through  a  beautiful  hilly 
country  and  for  a  while  they  had  glimpses  of  the 
river,  which  brought  them  pleasant  reminiscences 
of  their  rambling,  happy-go-lucky  voyage. 


154    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"Who  does  the  Good  Turn  belong  to?"  Tom 
asked. 

"I  think  it  belongs  to  Honorable  Pee-wee  Har- 
ris,"   said   Roy.      "He   did  the   trick  that  won 

i;t-" 

"I'll  tell  you  who  she  belongs  to,''  said  Pee- 
wee.  "She  belongs  to  the  First  Bridgeboro  Troop, 
Boy  Scouts  of  America." 

"Raven,  Fox  and  Elk!"  said  Roy.  "Right  you 
are,  Pee-wee.  United  we  stand,  divided  we 
squall." 

A  tramp  of  a  couple  of  hours  over  country 
roads  brought  them  to  Leeds,  and  they  hiked  along 
its  main  street  contributing  not  a  little  to  its  pic- 
turesqueness  with  their  alert,  jaunty  air,  their 
brown  complexions  which  matched  so  well  with 
the  scout  attire,  their  duffel  bags  and  their  long 
staves.  More  than  one  farmer  and  many  an  early 
summer  boarder  stared  at  them  and  hailed  them 
pleasantly  as  they  passed  along. 

"I  like  this  village,"  said  Pee-wee. 

"I'll  have  it  wrapped  up  for  you,"  said  Roy; 
"Take  it,  or  have  it  sent?" 

"How  do  we  get  to  Black  Lake?"  Tom  asked 
of  a  man  who  was  lounging  outside  one  of  the 
shops. 


TEMPLE  CAMP  155 

"Ye  ain*t  goin'  to  walk  it,  be  ye?"  he  answered, 
scrutinizing  them  curiously. 

"Right  you  are,"  said  Roy.     "How  did  you 

•jit 
guess  r 

"Ye  got  a  pooty  smart  walk  afore  ye,"  the  man 
said,  dubiously. 

"Well,  we're  pretty  smart  boys,"  said  Roy. 
"Break  it  to  us  gently,  and  let  us  hear  the 
worst." 

"Bacut  five  mile  'f  ye  take  th'  hill  rud." 

"Gracious,  goodness  me!"  said  Roy,  "are  they 
all  the  same  length?" 

"Kacuw?" 

"The  miles;  lads,  I'm  just  reckless  enough  to 
do  it." 

"Wall,"  drawled  their  informant.  "Ye  go  'long 
this  rud  t'l  ye  come  t'  a  field  whar  thar's  a  red 
caouw,  then  ye  cut  right  through  th'  middle  uv  it 
'n'  go  on  over  a  stun  wall  'n'  ye'll  come  to  a  woods 
rud.  Ye  foller  that  t'l  ye  come  to  a  side  path  on 
the  ien  on  it  that  goes  up  hill.  Black  Lake's 
t'other  side  that  hill.  Ye  got  to  pick  yer  way  up 
through  the  woods  'long  that  path  if  ye  kin  foller 
it,  'n'  when  ye  git  t'  the  top  ye  kin  look  daown 
V  see  th'  lake,  but  ye'll  have  a  smart  climb  gettin' 
daown  th'  hill." 


156    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"That's  us,"  said  Roy.  "Thanks — thanks  very 
much." 

When  they  had  gone  a  little  way  heihalted  Tom 
and  Pee-wee  with  a  dramatic  air. 
I  "Lads,"  said  he,  "we've  got  the  Motor  Boat 
Heroes  and  the  Dauntless  Chums  and  Submarine 
Sam  beaten  to  a  frazzle !  We're  the  Terrible 
Trio  Series,  volume  two  million.  Lads,  get  out 
your  dirks  and  keep  up  stout  hearts.  We  have  to 
cut  through  the  middle  of  a  red  cow!  That  man 
said  so !" 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour  more  along  an  ap- 
parently disused  road  and  they  came  upon  a  trail 
which  was  barely  discernible,  leading  up  a  steep 
and  densely  wooded  hill.  In  places  they  had  to 
climb  over  rugged*terraces,  extricating  themselves 
from  such  mazes  of  tangled  underbrush  as  they 
had  never  before  seen.  Now  and  then  the  path 
seemed  to  peter  out  and  they  found  it  again  with 
difficulty  and  only  by  the  skilful  use  of  scout  track- 
ing lore.  The  long,  steep  climb  was  filled  with 
difficulties,  but  they  pressed  on  amazed  at  the 
wildness  all  about  them. 

At  last,  by  dint  of  much  hard  effort  and  after 
many  wasted  steps  through  loss  of  the  trail,  they 
came  out  upon  the  summit,  and  looked  down  upon 


TEMPLE  CAMP  157 

a  sight  wnich  sent  a  thrill  to  all  three.  The  other 
side  of  the  hill  was,  perhaps,  not  as  steep  as  the 
side  which  they  had  mounted,  but  it  was  thickly- 
wooded  and  at  its  base  was  a  sheet  of  water  sur- 
rounded by  lofty  hills,  all  covered  with  dense  for- 
est, which  extended  right  down  to  the  water's 
edge.  The  lake  was  perhaps  a  mile  long,  and  lay 
like  a  dark  jewel  amid  the  frowning  heights  which 
closed  it  in.  The  trees  along  shore  were  dimly 
reflected  in  the  still,  black  water.  The  quiet  of 
the  spot  was  intense.  It  was  relieved  by  no  sign 
of  habitation,  save  a  little  thin,  uncertain  column 
of  smoke  which  rose  from  among  the  trees  on  the 
farther  shore. 

The  solemnity  of  the  scene,  the  blackness  and 
isolation  of  that  sheet  of  water,  the  dense  woods, 
rising  all  around  it  and  shutting  out  the  world, 
was*  quite  enough  to  cast  a  spell  on  anyone,  and 
the  three  boys  looked  about  them  awestruck  and 
for  a  moment  speechless. 

"Jiminy  crinkumsl"  said  Pee-wee,  at  length. 

Tom  only  shook  his  head. 

"Reminds  you  of  Broadway  and  Forty-second 
Street,"  said  Roy. 

They  started  down  the  hill  and  found  that  their 
descent  was  quite  as  difficult  as  the  ascent  had 


158     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

been,  but  at  last  they  reached  the  foot  and 
now,  from  this  lower  viewpoint  they  could  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  wood  interior  on  the  opposite 
shore.  There  were  several  log  cabins  harmoniz- 
ing in  color  with  the  surrounding  forest  and,  there- 
fore, inconspicuous.  Farther  from  the  shore  the 
boys  glimpsed  another  and  larger  structure  and 
at  the  water's  edge  they  now  saw  a  boat  drawn 
up. 

It  was  evident  that  the  way  they  had  come  was 
not  the  usual  way  to  reach  the  camp,  for  there  was 
no  sign  of  trail  along  the  shore,  and  to  pick  their 
way  around,  with  the  innumerable  obstacles  which 
beset  the  way,  would  have  taken  several  hours. 

"It  must  be  lively  around  here  on  Saturday 
nights  with  the  crowd  out  doing  their  marketing, 
and  the  movie  shows "  began  Roy. 

"Aw,  shut  up  I"  said  Pee-wee. 

They  raised  their  voices  in  unison  and  shouted, 
and  the  echo  resounded  from  the  hills  across  the 
water,  almost  as  loud  and  distinguishable  as  their 
own  call.  Roy  yelled  long  and  loud,  slapping  his 
open  lips  with  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  a  pande- 
monium of  similar  sounds  came  back  as  if  from  a 
multitude  of  voices. 

"I  tell  you,  when  John  Temple  does  a  thing  he 


TEMPLE  CAMP  159 

does  it  right!"  said  Pee-wee.  "Gee,  you  can't 
deny  that!" 

In  a  few  moments  a  man  approached  on  the  op- 
posite shore  and  leisurely  got  into  the  boat.  As 
he  rowed  across,  he  looked  around  once  in  a 
while,  and  as  the  boat  drew  near  the  boys  saw  that 
its  occupant  had  iron  gray  hair,  a  long  drooping 
moustache,  and  a  face  deeply  wrinkled  and 
browned  almost  to  a  mulatto  hue. 

"Hello,"  called  Roy.  "Is  that  Temple  Camp 
ever    there?       I    guess    we    came    in    the    back 

way." 

"Thet's  it,"  said  the  man.  "You  some  o'  the 
Bridgeboro  boys?" 

His  voice  was  low  and  soft,  as  of  one  who  has 
lived  long  in  the  woods  by  himself.  There  was 
a  humorous  twinkle  in  his  eye  which  the  boys 
liked.  He  was  long  and  lanky  and  wore  khaki 
trousers  and  a  coarse  gray  flannel  shirt.  His 
arms,  which  were  bare,  were  very  sinewy.  Alto- 
gether, the  impression  which  he  made  on  the  boys 
was  that  he  was  perfectly  self-possessed  and  at 
ease,  so  absolutely  sure  of  himself  that  nothing 
in  all  the  wide  world  could  frighten  him  or  discon- 
cert him.  The  President  of  the  United  States, 
kings,     emperors,     millionaires — including    John 


i6o    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

Temple — might  want  to  be  rowed  across  and  this 
man  would  come  leisurely  over  and  get  them,  but 
he  would  not  hurry  and  he  would  be  no  more  em- 
barrassed or  flustered  at  meeting  them  than  a  tree 
would  be.  Nature,  the  woods  and  mountains  and 
prairies,  had  put  their  stamp  upon  him,  had  whis- 
pered their  secrets  to  him,  and  civilization  could 
not  phase  him.  That  was  the  way  he  struck  the 
boys,  who  from  being  scouts  had  learned  to  be 
observant  and  discerning. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Rushmore?"  Tom  asked,  and  as 
the  man  nodded  assent  he  continued,  "My  name  is 
Tom  Slade;  we're  members  of  the  Bridgeboro 
Troop  and  I'm  the  one  selected  to  help  you.  I 
don't  know  if  you  expected  me  yet,  but  my  scout- 
master and  Mr.  Temple  thought  I  better  come 
ahead  of  the  other  fellows  so's  to  help  you  and 
get  acquainted — like.  These  fellows  came  with 
me  just  for  fun,  but,  of  course,  they  want  to  help 
get  things   ready.      The   rest   are   coming  up   in 

July." 

This  was  a  good  deal  for  Tom  to  say  at  a 
stretch,  and  it  fell  to  the  voluble  Pee-wee  later  to 
edify  Mr.  Rushmore  with  all  the  details  of  their 
trip,  winding  up  with  a  glowing  peroration  on 
Roy's  greatness. 


TEMPLE  CAMP  161 

"Waal,  I  reck'n  I'm  glad  yeVe  come — the  hull 
three  on  ye,"  Jeb  Rushmore  drawled. 

"That's  some  trail  over  that  hill,"  said  Roy,  as 
they  rowed  across.  "We  lost  it  about  a  dozen 
times" 

"Thet?  Thet  ain't  no  trail,"  said  Jeb.  "Thet's 
a  street — a  thurafare.  I'm  a-goin'  t'  test  you 
youngsters  out  follerin'  thet  on  a  dark  night." 

"Have  a  heart !"  said  Roy.  "I  could  never  pick 
that  out  with  a  flashlight." 

"A  what?  Ye  won't  hev  no  light  o'  no  sort, 
mot  ef  /  know  it" 

The  boys  laughed.  "Well,  I  see  we're  up 
against  the  real  thing,"  said  Roy,  "but  if  that's  a 
thoroughfare,  I'd  like  to  see  a  trail — that's  all." 

"Ye  don'  need  ter  see  it,"  drawled  Jeb.  "Ye 
jest  feel  it." 

"You  must  have  a  pretty  good  sense  of  touch," 
said  Roy. 

"Ye  don'  feel  it  with  your  hands,  youngster,  ye 
jest  sense  it." 

"Good  night!''  said  Roy. 

Tom  said  nothing.  He  had  been  watching  Mr. 
Rushmore  and  hanging  with  rapt  attention  on 
his  every  word. 

They  found  the  hill  on  the  opposite  shore  not 


1 62    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

as  steep  as  it  had  looked  from  across  the  water, 
and  here  at  its  base,  in  the  dim  solitude  by  the 
shore,  was  Temple  Camp.  There  was  a  large 
open  pavilion  built  of  untrimmed  wood,  which 
would  accommodate  eight  or  ten  troops,  allow- 
ing to  each  some  measure  of  privacy  and  there 
were  as  many  as  a  dozen  log  cabins,  some  large 
enough  for  two  or  three  patrols,  others  intended 
evidently  to  accommodate  but  one.  There  was  a 
shack  for  the  storage  of  provisions  and  equip- 
ment, in  which  the  boys  saw  among  other  things 
piles  upon  piles  of  wooden  platters. 

"Not  much  dishwashing  here,"  said  Pee-wee, 
joyfully. 

Here,  also,  were  half  a  dozen  tents  and  every 
imaginable  article  necessary  to  camp  life.  Close 
by  was  a  cooking  shack  and  outside  this  several 
long  mess  boards  with  rough  seats;  and  just  be- 
yond was  a  spring  of  clear  water. 

Jeb  Rushmore  had  a  cabin  to  himself  upon  the 
outside  of  which  sprawled  the  skins  of  as  many 
as  a  dozen  different  sorts  of  animals — the  troph- 
ies of  his  life  in  the  West. 

John  Temple  had  certainly  done  the  thing 
right;  there  was  no  doubt  of  that.  He  had  been 
a  long  time  falling,  but  when  he  fell  he  fell  hard. 


TEMPLE  CAMP  163 

Temple  Camp  comprised  one  hundred  acres  of 
woodland — "plenty  of  room  to  grow  in,"  as  Jeb 
said.  It  was  more  than  a  camp;  it  was  really  a 
community,  and  had  somewhat  the  appearance  Gf 
a  frontier  trading  post.  In  its  construction  very 
little  bark  had  been  taken  from  the  wood;  the 
whole  collection  of  buildings  fitted  well  in  their 
wild  surroundings;  there  wasn't  a  jarring  note. 
But  Temple  Camp  was  unique  not  only  in  its 
extent,  its  rustic  character  and  its  magnificent  sit- 
uation; it  was  the  fulfilment  of  a  grand  dream 
which  John  Temple  had  dreamed.  Any  troop  of 
scouts  could,  by  making  timely  application  to 
the  trustees,  go  to  Temple  Camp  and  remain 
three  weeks  without  so  much  as  a  cent  of  cost. 
There  was  to  be  absolutely  no  favoritism  of  any 
kind  (and  Jeb  Rushmore  was  the  man  to  see  to 
that),  not  even  in  the  case  of  the  Bridgeboro 
Troop ;  except  that  troops  from  cities  were  to  be 
given  preference  over  troops  from  country  dis- 
tricts. Jeb  Rushmore  was  to  be  the  camp  mana- 
ger, working  with  the  trustees  and  the  visiting 
scoutmasters;  but  as  it  turned  out  he  became  a 
character  in  this  scout  village,  and  if  he  fell  short 
in  executive  capacity  he  more  than  made  up  for  it 
in  other  ways.     Before  the  first  season  was  over 


1 64    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

people  came  miles  to  see  him.  There  were  also 
a  doctor  and  a  cook,  though  a  troop  occupying  a 
cabin  could  do  its  own  cooking  and  mess  by  itself 
if  it  chose. 

There  were  some  rather  interesting  rules  and 
regulations.  If  a  scout  won  a  merit  badge  while 
at  camp  this  entitled  his  whole  troop  to  lengthen 
its  stay  by  two  days,  if  it  so  elected.  If  he  won 
the  life  scout  badge,  four  extra  days  was  the  re- 
ward of  his  whole  troop.  The  star  badge  meant 
an  extra  week,  the  eagle  badge  ten  extra  days.  A 
scout  winning  the  bronze  cross  was  entitled  with 
his  troop  to  occupy  "Hero  Cabin"  and  to  remain 
two  extra  weeks  at  camp.  The  silver  cross  meant 
three  extra  weeks;  the  gold  cross  four  extra 
weeks.  If  a  troop  could  not  conveniently  avail 
itself  of  this  extra  time  privilege  in  the  current 
season  it  could  be  credited  with  the  time  and  use 
it,  whole  or  piecemeal,  in  subsequent  seasons. 

On  the  lake  there  were  to  be  several  boats 
which  were  not  yet  ready,  and  every  scout  winning 
a  life  saving  medal  was  to  have  a  boat  named  for 
him.  At  the  time  the  boys  arrived  there  was  only 
one  boat  and  that  was  named  Mary  Temple. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HERO    CABIN 

The  history  of  Temple  Camp  during  that  gala 
season  of  its  opening  would  fill  a  book;  but  this 
is  not  a  history  of  Temple  Camp,  and  we  must 
pass  at  once  to  those  extraordinary  happenings 
which  shook  the  little  scout  community  to  its  very 
center  and  cast  a  shadow  over  the  otherwise  pleas- 
ant and  fraternal  life  there. 

By  the  middle  of  July  every  inch  of  space  in  the 
pavilion  was  occupied,  and  among  the  other  troops 
which  lodged  there  was  the  little  troop  from  down 
the  Hudson,  of  which  Garry  Everson  was  the 
leader.  Tom  had  tried  to  procure  cabin  accom- 
modations for  these  good  friends,  but  the  cabins 
had  all  been  spoken  for  before  their  application 
came  and  they  had  to  be  content  with  the  less  de- 
sirable quarters.  During  the  early  days  of  their 
stay  the  Bridgeboro  Troop  arrived  in  a  blaze  of 
glory;  the  Ravens,  with  their  pride  and  delight, 
Doc  Carson,  first  aid  boy;  the  rest  of  the  Silver 

165 


1 66    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

Foxes  with  Westy  Martin,  Borry  Benton  and  oth- 
ers ;  and  Tom's  own  patrol,  the  Elks,  with  Connie 
Bennett,  the  Bronson  boys,  the  famous  O'Connor 
twins,  all  with  brand  new  outfits,  for  this  was  a 
new  patrol.  Three  small  cabins  had  been  reserved 
for  them  and  in  these  they  settled  down,  each 
patrol  by  itself  and  flying  its  own  flag.  Tom,  by 
reason  of  his  duties,  which  identified  him  with  the 
camp  as  a  whole  rather  than  with  any  troop  or 
patrol,  occupied  the  cabin  with  Jeb  Rushmore,  and 
though  he  was  much  with  the  Elks,  he  had  dele- 
gated Connie  Bennett  to  substitute  as  patrol  leader 
for  the  time  being. 

Garry  Everson  was  a  general  favorite.  Not 
only  had  his  stunt  of  receiving  the  signal  message 
and  restoring  the  fugitive  Pee-wee  won  him  high 
regard  with  the  Bridgeboro  boys,  but  his  quiet 
manner  and  whimsical  humor  had  made  him  many 
friends  throughout  the  camp.  He  was  tall  and 
slim,  but  muscular;  the  water  seemed  to  be  his 
specialty;  he  was  an  expert  at  rowing  and  pad- 
dling, he  could  dive  in  a  dozen  different  ways  and 
as  for  swimming,  no  one  at  Temple  Camp  could 
begin  to  compete  with  him. 

Tom's  friendship  with  Garry  Everson  had 
grown  quite  intimate.     They  were  both  interested 


HERO  CABIN  167 

in  tracking  and  made  many  little  trips  together, 
for  Tom  had  much  time  to  himself. 

One  morning,  as  Tom,  according  to  rule,  was 
making  his  regular  inspection  of  the  pavilion,  he 
lingered  for  a  few  minutes  in  Garry's  corner  to 
chat  with  him. 

"You're  not  getting  ready  to  go?"  he  asked 
in  surprise,  noticing  that  some  of  the  troop's  para- 
phernalia had  been  packed. 

"Beginning  to  get  ready,"  said  Garry.  "Sit 
down.    Why  didn't  you  bring  your  knitting?" 

"I  can't  stay  long,"  said  Tom.  "I've  got  to 
inspect  the  cabins  yet,  and  then  I've  got  to  make 
up  the  program  for  camp-fire  yarns  to-night.  By 
the  way,  couldn't  you  give  us  a  spiel?" 

"Oh,  sure,"  said  Garry.  "The  Quest  of  the 
Honor  Medal.  I'll  tell  how  nobody  ever  gets 
into  danger  here — or  imperils  his  life,  as  Pee-wee 
would  say.  I'm  going  to  put  a  notice  up  on  one 
of  the  trees  and  get  you  to  read  another  at  mess 
with  the  regular  announcements :  Wanted ;  by  scout 
'  seeking  honor  medal;  someone  willing  to  imperil 
his  life.  Suitable  reward.  Apply  Temple  Camp 
pavilion.     Signed,  Would-be  Hero." 

Tom  laughed. 

"I'm  like  old  What's-his-name,  Caesar.     Ready 


1 68    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

to  do  the  conquest  act,  but  nothing  more  to  con- 
quer. Believe  me,  it's  no  cinch  being  a  would-be 
hero.  Couldn't  you  get  bitten  by  a  rattlesnake  on 
one  of  your  tracking  stunts  ?  Get  your  foot  on  him, 
you  know,  and  he'll  be  wriggling  and  squirming 
to  get  his  head  free,  and  his  cruel  fangs  will  be 
within  an  inch  of  your  ankle  and  you'll  just  begin 
to  feel  them  against  your  stocking " 

"Don't,"  laughed  Tom. 

"When  all  of  a  sudden  I'll  come  bounding  out 
of  the  thicket,  and  I'll  grab  him  by  the  head  and 
force  his  cruel  jaws  shut  and  slip  an  elastic  band 
around  his  mug.  That  ought  to  pull  the  silver 
cross,  hey?  And  I  and  my  faithful  followers 
would  get  three  extra  weeks  in  camp." 

"Would  you  like  to  stay  longer?"  Tom  asked. 

"Foolish  question,  number  three  million. 
Haven't  we  had  the  time  of  our  young  lives?  I 
never  knew  two  weeks  to  go  so  fast.  Never  mind, 
we've  got  two  days  more — and  two  days  only  un- 
less I  get  some  answers  to  my  (ad.'  " 

"Where's  your  patrol  this  morning?" 

"Stalking;  they've  a  date  with  a  robin.  I  would 
have  gone  along  except  I  didn't  see  much  chance 
of  any  of  them  imperilling  their  lives  taking  snap- 
shots of  robins.     So  I  stayed  home  to  do  a  little 


HERO  CABIN  169 

packing — things  we  won't  need  again.  But  no  use 
thinking  about  that,  I  suppose;  that's  what  I  tell 
them.  We've  had  some  good  times,  all  right. 
Seems  a  pity  we  have  to  go  just  when  Mr.  Tem- 
ple and  his  daughter  have  come.  You're  a  lucky 
kid;  you  stay  till  the  last  gun  is  fired,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  I'm  going  to  stay  till  we  close  up.  Come 
on,  stroll  up  the  hill  with  me.  I've  got  to  raise 
the  colors.  If  you've  only  two  days  more  there's 
no  use  moping  around  in  here." 

"All  right,  wait  a  minute  and  I'll  be  with  you — 
dry  the  pensive  tear,  as  your  friend  Roy  would 
say.     He's  an  all-around  scout,  isn't  he?" 

"Yes,  he  came  right  off  the  cover  of  the  Man- 
ual, Mr.  Ellsworth  says." 

"You're  a  bully  troop,  you  fellows.  Gee,  I  envy 
you.  Trouble  with  us,"  he  continued,  as  they 
walked  up  the  hill  together,  "is  we  haven't  any 
scoutmaster.  I'm  scoutmaster  and  patrol  leader 
rolled  into  one.  We're  going  to  get  better  organ- 
ized this  winter.  There's  only  just  the  seven  of 
us,  you  know,  and  we  haven't  got  any  money. 
You  might  think  that  because  we  live  in  a  country 
village  on  the  Hudson  everything's  fine  and  dandy. 
But  there's  blamed  little  money  in  our  burg.  Four 
of  our  troop  have  to  work  after  school.     One 


170    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

works  all  day  and  goes  to  night  school  down  to 
Poughkeepsie.  I  saved  up  two  years  to  buy  that 
canoe  I  was  in  when  I  caught  your  message." 

"Well,  you  caught  it  all  right,"  said  Tom,  with 
a  note  of  pride  in  his  usually  expressionless  voice. 

"We'll  come  out  all  right,  though,"  said  Garry, 
cheerily.  "That's  what  I'm  always  telling  them; 
only  we're  so  gol-blamed  poor." 

"I  know  what  it  is,"  said  Tom,  after  a  pause. 
"Maybe  that's  what  makes  us  such  good  friends, 
sort  of.  I  lived  in  a  tenement  down  in  Bridge- 
boro.  I've  got  to  thank  Roy  for  everything — Roy 
and  Mr.  Ellsworth.  They  all  treat  me  fine  and 
you'd  never  know  most  of  them  are  rich  fellows; 
but  somehow — I  don't  just  know  how  to  tell  you — 
but  you  know  how  a  scout  is  supposed  to  be  a 
brother  to  every  other  scout.  Well,  it  seems  to 
me,  kind  of,  as  if  a  poor  fellow  is  a  brother  to 
every  other  poor  fellow — and — and — I  under- 
stand." 

"It's  easy  to  see  they  all  think  a  lot  of  you," 
said  Garry.  "Well,  we've  had  a  rattling  good 
time  up  here  and  I  don't  suppose  we'll  feel  any 
worse  about  going  away  than  lots  of  others  will. 
If  you  miss  one  thing  you  usually  have  another  to 
make  up.     We're  all  good  friends  in  our  little 


HERO  CABIN  171 

troop — we  have  more  fun  than  you  could  shake  a 
stick  at,  joshing  each  other  about  different  kinds 
of  heroic  stunts,  to  win  an  honor  medal,  and  some 
oT  them  have  thought  up  the  craziest  things " 

"I  wish  you  could  stay,"  said  Tom. 

"Well,  if  wishes  were  horses,  beggars  would 
ride,  as  some  old  duffer  said." 

The  wooded  hill  sloped  upward  behind  the 
camp  for  a  distance  of  some  hundred  yards,  where 
it  was  broken  by  a  sheer  precipice  forming  one 
side  of  a  deep  gully.  This  was  the  work  of  man, 
having  once  been  a  railroad  cut,  but  it  had  been 
in  disuse  for  many  years  and  was  now  covered 
with  vegetation.  You  could  walk  up  the  hill  till 
you  came  to  the  brink  of  this  almost  vertical 
chasm,  but  you  could  no  more  scramble  down  it 
than  you  could  scramble  down  a  well.  On  the 
opposite  side  of  the  cut  the  hill  continued  upward 
and  the  bridging  of  the  chasm  by  the  scouts  them- 
selves had  been  a  subject  of  much  discussion;  but 
up  to  the  present  time  nothing  had  been  done  and 
there  was  no  way  to  continue  one's  ascent  of  the 
hill  except  to  follow  along  the  edge  of  the  cut  to 
a  point  where  the  precipice  was  low  enough  to  al- 
low one  to  scramble  down — a  walk  of  several 
miles. 


172    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

Right  on  the  brink  of  this  old  overgrown  cut 
was  a  shack  which  had  probably  once  been  used 
by  the  workmen.  Although  on  the  Camp  property 
it  was  rather  too  far  removed  from  the  other 
buildings  to  be  altogether  convenient  as  a  living 
place,  but  its  isolated  situation  had  attracted  the 
boys,  and  the  idea  of  calling  it  Hero  Cabin  was  an 
inspiration  of  Roy's.  Mr.  Keller,  one  of  the  trus- 
tees, had  fallen  in  with  the  notion  and  while  depre- 
cating the  use  of  this  remote  shack  for  regular 
living  quarters,  had  good-naturedly  given  his  con- 
sent that  it  be  used  as  the  honored  domicile  of 
any  troop  a  member  of  which  had  won  an  honor 
medal.  Perhaps  he  thought  that,  honor  medah 
being  not  so  easily  won,  it  would  be  quite  safe  to 
make  this  concession. 

In  any  event,  it  was  quite  enough  for  the  boys. 
A  committee  was  formed  with  a  member  from 
each  troop  to  make  the  shack  a  suitable  abode  for 
a  hero  and  his  court.  Impulsive  Roy  was  the  mov- 
ing spirit  of  the  plan;  Pee-wee  was  its  megaphone, 
and  in  the  early  days  of  the  Bridgcboro  troop's 
stay  a  dozen  or  more  scouts  had  worked  like  beav- 
ers making  a  path  up  through  the  woods,  cover- 
ing the  shack  with  bark,  and  raising  a  flagpole 
near  it.     They  had  hiked  into  Leeds  and  bought 


HERO  CABIN  173 

material  for  a  flag  to  fly  above  the  shack  showing 
the  name,  HERO  CABIN,  and  they  had  fitted 
it  with  rustic  bunks  inside. 

The  idea  was  a  good  one,  the  boys  had  taken 
a  great  deal  of  pride  and  pleasure  in  the  work  of 
preparation,  the  whole  thing  had  given  rise  to 
much  friendly  jealousy  as  to  what  troop  should  be 
honored  by  residence  here  and  what  fortunate 
scout  should  be  escorted  to  this  new  abode  amid 
acclamations.  Probably  every  troop  in  camp 
had  dreams  of  occupying  it  (I  am  sure  that 
Pee-wee  had),  and  of  spending  its  "honor  time" 
here. 

But  apparently  Mr.  Keller,  who  was  not  much 
given  to  dreaming,  was  right  in  his  skeptical  con- 
jecture for  Hero  Cabin  remained  unoccupied, 
though  Tom  made  it  a  point  to  tramp  up  and 
raise  and  lower  the  colors  there  each  day. 

"Some  day,  maybe  next  season,"  said  he  as  they 
stood  on  the  brink  and  gazed  across  the  deep 
gully,  "they'll  bring  somebody  up  here  riding  on 
their  shoulders.  You  can't  win  an  honor  medal 
every  day  in  the  week.  I  think  the  bronze  cross 
would  be  enough  for  me — let  alone  the  silver  or 
the  gold  one.  I'd  be  satisfied  with  that,  wouldn't 
you?" 


174    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"Except  that  the  gold  cross  gives  you  four  extra 
weeks,"  said  Garry,  "and,  of  course,  the  more  risk 
a  fellow  takes,  the  greater  the  honor  is."  He 
picked  up  a  pebble  and  threw  it  at  a  tree  across  the 
gully.  "I'd  rather  have  one  of  those  medals,"  he 
said,  "than  anything  in  the  world — and  I  want  a 
wireless  outfit  pretty  bad,  too.  But  besides  that" 
(he  kept  throwing  pebbles  across  the  gully  and 
spoke  half  absently),  "besides  that,  it  would  be 
fine  to  have  that  extra  time.  Maybe  we  couldn't 
use  it  all  this  season,  but — look,  I  can  hit  that  thin 
tree  every  time — but  I'm  thinking  of  the  little 
codger  mostly;  you  knew  the  one  I  mean — with 
the  light  hair?" 

"The  little  fellow  that  coughs?" 

"He  doesn't  cough  any  more.  He  did  before 
we  came  up  here.  His  father  died  of  consump- 
tion.    No,  he  doesn't  cough  much  now — guess  it 

agrees  with  him  up  here.    He's There,  I  hit 

it  six  times  in  succession." 

For  a  few  minutes  Tom  said  nothing,  but 
watched  as  Garry,  time  after  time,  hit  the  slender 
tree  across  the  gully. 

"I  often  dream  about  having  an  honor  medal, 
too,"  he  said,  after  a  while.  "We  haven't  got 
any  in  our  troop.     Roy'll  be  the  one,  I  guess.     I 


HERO  CABIN  175 

suppose  the  gold  cross  is  the  highest  award  they'll 
ever  have,  hey?" 

"Guess  so." 

"There's  nothing  better  than  gold,  is  there?" 

"It  isn't  because  there's  nothing  better  than 
gold,"  said  Garry,  still  intent  upon  hitting  his 
mark.  "It's  because  there's  nothing  better  than 
heroism — bravery — risking  your  life." 

"Diamonds — they  might  have  a  diamond  cross, 
hey?" 

"What  for?" 

"In  case  they  found  anything  that's  better  than 
heroism. 

"What?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.    There  might  be." 

Garry  turned  and  laughingly  clapped  Tom  on 
the  back.  "I  might  push  you»over  this  precipice 
and  then  jump  down  after  you,  hey?"  he  laughed. 

"You'd  be  crushed  to  death  yourself,"  said 
Tom. 

"Well,  stop  talking  nonsense  or  I'll  do  it. 
Come  on,  get  your  chores  done  and  we'll  go  down 
and  have  a  swim.     What'd'  you  say?" 

He  ran  his  hand  through  Tom's  thick  shock  of 
hair  and  laughed  again.  "Come  on,  forget  it," 
said  he.     "I've  only  got  two  days  more  here  and 


176    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

I'm  not  going  to  miss  a  morning  dip.     Come  on, 
I'll  show  you  the  double  twist  dive." 

He  put  his  arm  through  Tom's  with  the 
contagious  gaiety  that  was  his,  and  started  down 
the  hill  with  him  toward  the  lake. 

'Come   on,   wake   up,    you   old   grouch,"   he 
said. 


CHAPTER  XV 
coward! 

There  were  not  many  boys  bathing  at  the  time 
this  thing  happened.  Roy  and  several  of  the 
Silver  Foxes  were  at  a  little  distance  from  the 
shore  practising  archery,  and  a  number  of  scouts 
from  other  troops  lolled  about  watching  them. 
Three  or  four  boys  from  a  Pennsylvania  troop 
were  having  an  exciting  time  with  the  row-boat, 
diving  from  it  out  in  the  middle  of  the  lake. 
Pee-wee  Harris  and  Dory  Bronson,  of  Tom's 
patrol,  were  taking  turns  diving  from  the  spring- 
board. Tom  and  Garry  joined  them  and,  as 
usual,  whenever  Garry  was  diving,  boys  saun- 
tered down  to  the  shore  and  watched. 

"Here  goes  the  Temple  Twist,"  said  he,  turn- 
ing a  complete  somersault  and  then  jerking  him- 
self sideways  so  as  to  strike  the  water  crossways 
to  the  spring-board. 

There  was  some  applause  as  he  came  up  splut- 
tering.   Tom  tried  it,  but  could  not  get  the  twist. 

177 


178     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"Try  this  on  your  piano,"  said  Garry,  diving 
and  striking  the  water  flat. 

"That's  what  you  call  the  Bridgeboro  Botch," 
he  laughed,  as  Tom  went  sprawling  into  the  water. 
"Hey,  Blakeley,"  he  shouted  to  Roy,  "did  you  see 
the  Bridgeboro  Botch?" 

"There's  no  use  their  trying  your  tricks,"  Roy 
called  in  genuine  admiration.  "I'm  coming  in  in 
a  few  minutes,  myself." 

But  Tom  dived  very  well  for  all  that,  and  so 
did  Pee-wee,  but  Dory  Bronson  was  new  at  the 
game. 

The  thing  which  was  destined  to  have  such  far- 
reaching  consequences  happened  suddenly  and 
there  was  some  difference  of  opinion  among  the 
eye-witnesses  as  to  just  how  it  occurred,  but  all 
were  agreed  as  to  the  main  fact.  Dory  had  just 
dived,  it  was  Pee-wee's  turn  next,  Tom  would 
follow,  and  then  Garry,  who  meanwhile  had 
stepped  up  to  where  Roy  and  the  others  were 
shooting,  and  was  chatting  with  them. 

They  had  dived  in  this  order  like  clock-work 
for  some  time,  so  that  when  Dory  did  not  appear 
on  the  board  the  others  looked  about  for  him. 
Just  at  that  moment  a  piercing  cry  arose,  and  a 
dozen  pairs  of  eyes  were  turned  out  on  the  lak« 


COWARD!  179 

where  the  boy  was  seen  struggling  frantically.  It 
was  evident  that  the  boys  in  the  boat  were  pulling 
to  his  assistance,  but  they  were  too  far  away  and 
meanwhile  he  floundered  and  struggled  like  a 
madman,  sending  up  cries  that  echoed  from  the 
hills.  How  he  had  gotten  out  so  far  no  one  knew, 
unless  indeed  he  had  tried  to  swim  to  the  boat. 

The  sight  of  a  human  being  struggling  fran- 
tically in  the  water  and  lost  to  all  sense  of  reason 
by  panic  fright  is  one  to  strike  terror  to  a  stout 
heart.  Even  the  skilful  swimmer  whose  courage 
is  not  of  the  stoutest  may  balk  at  the  peril.  That 
seemed  to  be  the  feeling  which  possessed  Tom 
Slade  as  he  stood  upon  the  end  of  the  spring-board 
and  instead  of  diving  cast  a  hurried  look  to  where 
Garry  Everson  was  talking  with  Roy. 

It  all  happened  in  a  moment,  the  cries  from 
the  lake,  Tom's  hesitation,  his  swift  look  toward 
Roy  and  Garry,  and  his  evident  relief  as  the  lat- 
ter rushed  to  the  shore  and  plunged  into  the 
water.  He  stood  there  on  the  end  of  the  high 
spring-board,  conspicuous  against  the  blue  sky, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  swimmer.  He  saw 
the  struggle  in  the  water,  saw  the  frantic  arms 
clutch  at  Garry,  watched  him  as  he  extricated 
himself  from  that  insane  grasp,   saw  him  catch 


180    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

the  struggling  figure  with  the  "neck  grip"  as  the 
only  means  of  saving  both  lives,  and  watched  him 
as  he  swam  toward  shore  with  his  now  almost  un- 
conscious burden.  What  he  thought,  how  he  felt, 
no  human  being  knew.  He  stood  motionless  like 
a  statue  until  the  growing  crowd  below  him  set 
up  a  cheer.  Then  he  went  down  and  stood  among 
them. 

"Didn't  you  see  him  drowning  there?"  a  fel- 
low demanded  of  him. 

"Yes,  I  did,"  said  Tom. 

The  other  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  with 
a  peculiar  expression,  then  swung  on  his  heel  and 
strode  away. 

Tom  craned  his  neck  to  sec  and  spoke  to  those 
nearest  him,  but  they  only  answered  perfunctor- 
ily or  ignored  him  altogether.  He  moved  around 
to  where  Roy  stood,  and  Roy,  without  looking  at 
him,  pressed  farther  into  the  crowd. 

"That's  he,"  a  boy  near  him  whispered  to  his 
neighbor;  "stood  on  the  end  of  the  board,  watch- 
ing.    I  didn't  think  we  had  any  cowards  here." 

In  every  face  and  most  of  all  in  the  faces  of 
his  own  troop  Tom  saw  contempt  plainly  writ- 
ten. He  could  not  go  away  from  them,  for  that 
might  excite  fresh  comment;  so  he  remained,  try- 


COWARD!  181 

ing  to  disregard  the  significant  glances  and  swal- 
lowing hard  to  keep  down  the  lump  which  kept 
rising  in  his  throat. 

Soon  the  doctor  came,  relieving  Doc  Carson  of 
the  Ravens,  and  the  half-drowned  boy  was  taken 
to  his  cabin. 

"He — he's  all  right,  isn't  he?"  Tom  asked  of 
the  doctor. 

"Yes,"  said  the  doctor,  briefly.  "He's  one  of 
your  own  patrol,  isn't  he?" 

"Yes— sir." 

The  doctor  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  and 
then  turned  away. 

"Hello,  old  man,"  said  Garry,  as  he  passed 
him,  hurrying  to  the  pavilion.  "Cold  feet,  eh? 
Guess  you  got  a  little  rattled.     Never  mind." 

The  words  stabbed  Tom  like  a  knife,  but  at 
least  they  were  friendly  and  showed  that  Garry 
did  not  entirely  condemn  him. 

He  paused  at  the  Elks  cabin,  the  cabin  of  his 
own  patrol,  where  most  of  the  members  of  his 
troop  were  gathered.  One  or  two  made  way  for 
him  in  the  doorway,  but  did  not  speak.  Roy 
Blakeley  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  Dory's 
couch. 

"Roy,"  said  Tom,  still  hesitating  in  the  door- 


1 82     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

way  of  his  own  patrol  cabin,  "can  I  speak  to  you 
a  minute?" 

Roy  came  out  and  silently  followed  Tom  to  a 
point  out  of  hearing  of  the  others. 

"I — I  don't  care  so  much  what  the  others 
think,"  said  Tom.  "If  they  want  to  think  I'm  a 
coward,  all  right.  But  I  want  to  tell  you  how 
it  was  so  you  won't  think  so." 

"Oh,  you  needn't  mind  about  me,"  said  Roy. 

"You  and  Garry— I " 

"I  guess  he  knows  what  to  think,  too,"  said 
Roy,  coldly.  "I  guess  he  has  his  opinion  of  the 
First  Bridgeboro  Troop's  courage." 

"That's  why  I  care  most,"  said  Tom,  "on  ac- 
count of  disgrace  for  one  being  disgrace  for  all 
— and  honor,  too.     But  there's  something " 

"Well,  you  should  have  thought  of  that,"  Roy 
interrupted  impetuously,  "when  you  stood  there 
and  let  a  strange  fellow  rescue  one  of  your  own 
patrol.  You  practically  asked  him  to  do  it — 
everybody  saw." 

"There's  something " 

"Oh,  sure,  there's  something!  I  suppose  you'll 
be  able  to  dig  something  out  of  the  Handbook, 
defending  cowards!  You're  great  on  the  Hand- 
book." 


COWARD!  183 

Again  that  something  came  up  in  Tom's  throat 
and  the  ugly  word  cut  him  so  that  he  could  hardly 
speak. 

"No,  there  isn't  anything  in  the  Manual  about 
it,"  said  he,  in  his  slow  monotone,  "because  I 
looked." 

Roy  sneered  audibly. 

"But  I  thought  there  might  be  another  law — 
a  13th  one  about " 

"Oh,  you  make  me  sick  with  your  13th  law!" 
Roy  flared  up.  "Is  that  what  you  were  dreaming 
about  when  you  stood  on  the  end  of  that  board 
and  beckoned  to  Garry " 


"I  didn't  beckon,  I  just  looked " 

"Just  looked!  Well,  I  don't  claim  to  be  up 
on  the  law  like  you,  but  the  10th  law's  good 
enough  for  me, — 'A  scout  is  brave;  he  has  the 
courage  to  face  danger  in  spite  of  fear.'  This 
fellow  will  have  the  bronze  cross,  maybe  the  sil- 
ver one,  for  rescuing  one  of  our  troop,  one  of 
your  own  patrol.  You  know  how  we  made  a  reso- 
lution that  the  first  honor  medal  should  come  to 
us !  And  here  you  stand  there  watching  and  let 
a  stranger  walk  away  with  it!" 

"Do  you  think  he'll  get  it?"  Tom  asked. 

"Of  course,  he'll  get  it." 


1 84    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

Tom  smiled  slightly.  "And  you  think  I'm  a 
coward?" 

"I'm  not  saying  what  I  think.  I  never  did 
think  so  before.  I  know  that  fellow  will  have 
the  cross  and  they'll  be  the  honor  troop  because 
in  our  troop  we've  got " 

"Don't  say  that  again,  Roy;  please  don't — 
I " 

Roy  looked  at  him  for  one  moment;  perhaps 
in  that  brief  space  all  the  history  of  their  friend- 
ship came  rushing  back  upon  him,  and  he  was  on 
the  point  of  stretching  out  his  hand  and  letting 
Tom  explain.  But  the  impulse  passed  like  a  sud- 
den storm,  and  he  walked  away. 

Tom  watched  him  until  he  entered  the  patrol 
shack,  and  then  went  on  to  his  own  cabin.  Jeb 
Rushmore  was  out  with  the  class  in  tracking, 
teaching  them  how  to  feel  a  trail,  and  Tom  sat 
down  on  his  own  couch,  glad  to  be  alone.  He 
thought  of  the  members  of  his  own  troop,  in 
and  about  his  own  patrol  cabin,  ministering  to 
Dory  Bronson.  He  wondered  what  they  were 
saying  about  him  and  whether  Roy  would  dis- 
cuss him  with  others.  He  didn't  think  Roy  would 
do  that.  He  wondered  what  Mr.  Ellsworth 
would  think — and  Jeb  Rushmore. 


COWARD!  185 

He  got  up  and,  fumbling  in  his  duffel  bag, 
fished  out  the  thumbed  and  delapidated  Hand- 
book, which  was  his  trusty  friend  and  companion. 
He  opened  it  at  page  64.  He  knew  the  place 
well  enough,  for  he  had  many  times  coveted  what 
was  offered  there.  There,  standing  at  attention 
and  looking  straight  at  him,  was  the  picture  of  a 
scout,  very  trim  and  natty,  looking,  as  he  had 
often  thought,  exactly  like  Roy.  Beside  it  was 
another  picture  of  a  scout  tying  knots  and  he 
recalled  how  Roy  had  taught  him  the  various 
knots.  His  eyes  scanned  the  type  above  till  he 
found  what  he  sought. 

"The  bronze  medal  is  mounted  on  a  red 
ribbon  and  is  awarded  to  a  scout  who  has 
actually  saved  life  where  risk  is  involved. 

"The  silver  medal  is  mounted  on  a  blue 
ribbon  and  is  awarded  to  a  scout  who  saves 
life  with  considerable  risk  to  himself. 

"The  gold  medal  is  mounted  on  white 
ribbon  and  is  the  highest  possible  award  for 
heroism.  It  may  be  granted  to  a  scout  who 
has  gravely  endangered  his  own  life  in  actu- 
ally saving  the  life  of  another." 

"It'll  mean  the  silver  one  for  him,  all  right," 
said   Tom   to   himself,    "and   that's   three   more 


.186    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

weeks.  I  wish  it  could  be  the  gold  one." 
Idly  he  ran  through  the  pages  of  the  book, 
pausing  here  and  there.  On  page  349  were  pic- 
tures of  scouts  rescuing  drowning  persons.  He 
knew  the  methods  well  and  looked  at  the  pictures 
wistfully.  Again  at  page  278  was  some  matter 
about  tracking,  with  notes  in  facsimile  handwrit- 
ing. This  put  the  idea  into  his  mind  that  he 
might  insert  a  little  handwriting  of  his  own  at  a 
certain  place,  and  he  turned  to  the  pages  he  knew 
best  of  all — 23  an^  34-  He  read  the  whole  twelve 
laws,  but  none  seemed  quite  to  cover  his  case.  So 
he  wrote  in  a  very  cramped  hand  after  Law  12 
these  words : 

"13 — A  scout  can  make  a  sacrifice.  He  can 
keep  from  winning  a  medal  so  somebody  else 
can  get  it.  Especially  he  must  do  this  if  it 
does  the  other  scout  more  good.  That  is 
better  than  being  a  hero." 

He  turned  to  the  fly  leaf  and  wrote  in  sprawl- 
ing, reckless  fashion:  "I  am  not  a  coward.  I 
hate  cowards."  Then  he  tore  the  page  out  and 
threw  it  away.  He  hardly  knew  what  he  was 
doing.  After  a  few  minutes  he  turned  to  page 
58,  where  the  picture  of  the  honor  medal  was. 


COWARD!  187 

As  he  sat  gazing  at  it,  loud  shouting  arose  in  the 
distance.  Nearer  and  nearer  it  came,  and  louder 
it  grew,  until  it  swelled  into  a  lusty  chorus. 
Around  the  corner  of  the  pavilion  they  came,  two 
score  or  more  of  scouts,  yelling  and  throwing  their 
hats  into  the  air.  Tom  looked  up  and  listened. 
Through  the  little  window  he  could  glimpse  them 
as  they  passed,  carrying  Garry  Everson  upon 
their  shoulders,  and  shrieking  themselves  hoarse. 
Pee-wee  was  there  and  Artie  Val  Arlen,  of  the 
Ravens,  and  the  little  sandy-haired  fellow  with 
the  cough,  running  to  keep  up  and  yelling  proudly 
for  his  chief  and  idol. 

"Hurrah  for  the  silver  cross  I"  they  called. 
"Three  cheers  for  the  honor  scout!" 
"Three  cheers  and  three  extra  weeks!" 
They  paused  within  a  dozen  feet  of  where  Tom 
sat,  and  pushing,  elbowing,  fell  into  the  woods, 
path  leading  up  to  Hero  Cabin.     Tom  listened 
until   their   voices,    spent   by   the    distance,    were 
scarcely  audible.     Then  he  fell  to  gazing  again 
at  the  picture  of  the  medal. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

OSTRACIZED 

The  question  was  as  to  the  bronze  cross  or 
the  silver  one,  and  it  was  the  silver  one  which 
came.  Roy,  who  had  been  the  most  observant 
witness,  testified  before  the  Honor  Court  that  the 
frantic  struggling  of  the  rescued  scout  must  have 
incurred  danger  to  the  rescuer  and  that  only  his 
dexterity  and  skill  had  saved  him. 

But  after  all,  who  can  say  how  much  risk  is 
involved  in  such  an  act.  It  is  only  in  those  deeds 
of  sublime  recklesness  where  one  throws  his  life 
into  the  balance  as  a  tree  casts  off  a  dried  leaf  that 
the  true  measure  of  peril  is  known.  That  is 
where  insanity  and  heroism  seem  to  join  hands. 
And  hence  the  glittering  cross  of  the  yellow  metal 
lying  against  its  satin  background  of  spotless  white 
stands  alone  by  itself,  apart  from  all  other 
awards. 

There  was  no  thought  of  it  here  and  least  of 
all  by  Garry  himself.  When  asked  by  the  court 
how  much  he  believed  he  had  jeopardized  his 

1 88 


OSTRACIZED  189 

life,  he  said  he  did  not  know,  and  that  at  the  time 
he  had  thought  only  of  saving  Dory  Bronson.  He 
added  that  all  scouts  know  the  different  life-saving 
"wrinkles"  and  that  they  have  to  use  their  judg- 
ment. His  manner  had  a  touch  of  nonchalance, 
or  rather,  perhaps  of  indifference,  which  struck 
one  or  two  of  the  visiting  scoutmasters  unfavor- 
ably. But  Jeb  Rushmore,  who  was  in  the  room, 
sitting  far  back  with  his  lanky  arms  clasped  about 
his  lanky  limbs,  and  a  shrewd  look  in  his  eyes, 
was  greatly  impressed,  and  it  was  largely  because 
of  his  voice  that  the  recommendation  went  to 
headquarters  for  the  silver  medal.  In  all  of  the 
proceedings  the  name  of  Tom  Slade  was  not  once 
mentioned,  though  his  vantage  point  on  the  spring- 
board ought  to  have  made  his  testimony  of  some 
value. 

So  Garry  Everson  and  his  little  one-patrol 
troop  took  up  their  abode  in  Hero  Cabin,  and  the 
little  sandy-haired  fellow  with  the  cough  raised 
and  lowered  the  colors  each  day,  as  Tom  had  done, 
and  ate  more  heartily  down  at  mess,  and  made 
birchbark  ornaments  in  the  sunshine  up  at  his  be- 
loved retreat,  and  was  very  proud  of  his  leader; 
but  he  had  little  use  for  Tom  Slade,  because  he 
believed  Tom  was  a  coward. 


1 9o    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

In  due  time  the  Silver  Cross  itself  came,  and 
scouts  who  strolled  up  to  visit  the  cabin  on  the 
precipice  noticed  that  sometimes  the  little  sandy- 
haired  fellow  wore  it,  so  that  it  came  to  be 
rumored  about  that  Garry  Everson  cared  more 
about  him  than  he  did  about  the  medal.  There 
were  times  when  Garry  took  his  meals  up  to  him 
and  often  he  was  not  at  campfire  in  the  evenings. 
But  the  little  fellow  improved  each  day  and  every 
one  noticed  it. 

In  time  the  feeling  toward  Tom  subsided  un- 
til nothing  was  left  of  it  except  a  kind  of  passive 
disregard  of  him.  Organized  resentment  would 
not  have  been  tolerated  at  Temple  Camp  and  it 
is  a  question  whether  the  scouts  themselves  would 
have  had  anything  to  do  with  such  a  conspiracy. 
But  the  feeling  had  changed  toward  him  and  was 
especially  noticeable  in  certain  quarters. 

Perhaps  if  he  had  lived  among  his  own  troop 
and  patrol  as  one  of  them  the  estrangement 
would  have  been  entirely  forgotten,  but  he  lived 
a  life  apart,  seeing  them  only  at  intervals,  and 
so  the  coldness  continued.  As  the  time  drew 
near  for  the  troop  to  leave,  Tom  fancied  that  the 
feeling  against  him  was  stronger  because  they 
were  thinking  of  the  extra  time  they  might  have 


OSTRACIZED  191 

had  along  with  the  honor  they  had  lost,  but  he 
was  sensitive  and  possibly  imagined  that.  He 
sometimes  wondered  if  Roy  and  the  others  were 
gratified  to  know  that  these  good  friends  of  their 
happy  journey  to  camp  could  remain  longer.  But 
the  camp  was  so  large  and  the  Honor  Troop 
stayed  so  much  by  itself  that  the  Bridgeboro  boys 
hardly  realized  what  it  meant  to  that  little  patrol 
up  at  Hero  Cabin.  Tom  often  thought  wistfully 
of  the  pleasant  cruise  up  the  river  and  won- 
dered if  Roy  and  Pee-wee  thought  cf  it  as 
they  made  their  plans  to  go  home  in  the  Good 
Turn. 

Two  friends  Tom  had,  at  all  events,  and  these 
were  Jeb  Rushmore  and  Garry  Everson.  The 
Honor  Troop  was  composed  mostly  of  small  boys 
and  all  except  the  little  boy  who  was  Garry's 
especial  charge  were  in  Tom's  tracking  class.  He 
used  to  put  them  through  the  simpler  stunts  and 
then  turn  them  over  to  Jeb  Rushmore.  Appar- 
ently, they  did  not  share  the  general  prejudice 
and  he  liked  to  be  with  them. 

One  afternoon  he  returned  with  three  or  four 
of  these  youngsters  and  lingered  on  the  hill  to  chat 
with  Garry.  He  had  come  to  feel  more  at  home 
here  than  anywhere  else. 


1 92     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"How's  the  kid?"  Tom  asked,  as  the  sandy 
haired  boy  came  out  of  the  cabin  and  passed  him 
without  speaking. 

"Fins,  You  ought  to  see  him  eat.  He's  a 
whole  famine  in  himself.  You  mustn't  mind  him," 
he  added;  "he  has  notions." 

"Oh,"  said  Tom,  "I'm  used  to  being  snubbed. 
It  just  amuses  me  in  his  case." 

"How's  tracking?" 

"Punk.  There's  so  much  dust  you  can't  make 
a  track.  What  we  need  is  rain,  so  we  can  get 
some  good  plain  prints.  That's  the  only  way  to 
teach  a  tenderfoot.  Jeb  says  dust  ought  to  be  good 
enough,  but  he's  a  fiend." 

"He  could  track  an  aeroplane,"  said  Garry. 
"Everything's  pretty  dry,  I  guess." 

"You'd  say  so,"  said  Tom,  "if  you  were  down 
through  those  east  woods.  You  could  light  a 
twig  with  a  sun  glass.  They're  having  forest  fires 
up  back  of  Tannerstown." 

"I  saw  the  smoke,"  said  Garry. 
I  "There's  a  couple  of  hoboes  down  the  cut  a 
ways ;  we  tracked  them  today,  cooking  over  a 
loose  fire.  I  tried  to  get  them  to  cut  it  out;  told 
?em  they'd  have  the  whole  woods  started.  They 
only  laughed.     I'm  going  to  report  it  to  J.  R." 


OSTRACIZED  193 

"They  on  the  camp  land?" 

"If  they  were  they'd  have  been  off  before  this." 

They  strolled  out  to  the  edge  of  the  cut  and 
looked  off  across  the  country  beyond  where  the 
waning  sunlight  fell  upon  the  dense  woods,  touch- 
ing the  higher  trees  with  its  lurid  glow.  Over 
that  way  smoke  arose  and  curled  away  in  the  first 
twilight. 

"There's  some  good  timber  gone  to  kindling 
wood  over  there,"  said  Garry. 

"It's  going  to  blow  up  tonight,"  said  Tom; 
"look  at  the  flag." 

They  watched  the  banner  as  it  fluttered  and 
spread  in  the  freshening  breeze. 

"Looks  pretty,  don't  it?"  said  Tom.  "Shall 
we  haul  it  down?" 

"No,  let  the  kid  do  it." 

Garry  called  and  the  little  fellow  came  over 
for  the  task  he  loved. 

"Sunset,"  said  Garry.  "Now  just  look  at  his 
muscle,"  he  added,  winking  at  Tom.  "By  the 
time  this  precious  three  weeks  is  up,  he'll  be  a 
regular  Samson." 

Garry  walked  a  few  paces  down  the  hill  with 
Tom.  "I  wish  I  could  have  had  a  chance  to  thank 
Mr.  Temple  when  he  was  here,"  he  said,   "for 


i94    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

this   bully   camp    and   that   extra    time    arrange- 
ment." 

"He  deserves  thanks,"  said  Tom. 

They  walked  on  for  a  few  moments  in  silence. 

"You — you  don't  think  I'm  a  coward,  do  you?" 
said  Tom,  suddenly.     "I  wouldn't  speak  about  it  j 
to   anyone  but  you.      But  I   can't  help   thinking 
about  it  sometimes.     I  wouldn't  speak  about  it 
even  to  Roy — now." 

"Of  course,  I  don't.  I  think  you  were  a  little 
rattled,  that's  all.  I've  been  the  same  myself. 
For  a  couple  of  seconds  you  didn't  know  what  to 
do — you  were  just  up  in  the  air — and  by  the  time 
you  got  a  grip  on  yourself — I  had  cheated  you 
out  of  it.  You  were  just  going  to  dive,  weren't 
you?" 

"Sometimes  it's  hard  to  make  a  fellow  under- 
stand," said  Tom,  not  answering  the  question.  "I 
can't  tell  you  just  what  I  was  thinking.  That's 
my  own  business.  I — I've  got  it  in  my  Hand- 
book. But  all  I  want  to  know  is,  you  don't  think 
I'm  a  coward,  do  you?" 

"Sure,  I  don't." 

Garry  turned  back  and  Tom  went  on  down  the 
winding  path  through  the  woods  to  camp.  The 
breeze,   becoming  brisker,   blew  the   leaves  this 


OSTRACIZED  195 

way  and  that,  and  as  he  plodded  on  through  the 
dusk  he  had  to  lower  his  head  to  keep  his  hat 
from  blowing  off.  The  wind  brought  with  it  a 
faint  but  pungent  odor  which  reminded  him  of  the 
autumn  days  at  home  when  he  and  Roy  raked  up 
the  leaves  and  burned  them  behind  the  Blakeley 
house.  Pie  avoided  this  train  of  thought.  His 
face  was  stolid,  and  his  manner  dogged  as  he  hur- 
ried on,  with  the  rather  clumsy  gait  which  still 
bore  the  faintest  trace  of  the  old  shuffle  Barrel 
Alley  had  known  so  well. 

Near  the  camp  he  ran  plunk  into  Roy. 

"Hello,"  he  said. 

"Hello,"  said  Roy,  and  passed  on. 

"Roy,"  Tom  called  after  him,  "I  want  to  speak 
to  you  a  minute." 

Roy  paused. 

"I — I  was  thinking — do  you  smell  smoke,  Roy? 
It  makes  me  think  how  we  used  to  rake  up  the 
leaves." 

Roy  said  nothing. 

"I  understand  the  troop  is  going  home  tomor- 
row and  some  of  you  are  going  in  the  Good  Turn. 
I  hope  you'll  have  a  fine  trip — like  when  we  came 
up.  I  wish  you  could  all  stay  longer.  It  makes 
me  kind  of  hon  esick  to  see  you  all  go." 


196    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"We  might  have  stayed  longer,"  said  Roy, 
coldly,  "only — is  that  all  you  want  to  say  to  me?" 
he  broke  off. 

"I  just  want  to  say  good-bye  and " 

"All  right,  good-bye,"  said  Rcy,  and  walked 
away. 

Tom  watched  him  for  a  few  seconds,  then  went 
on  down  to  supper. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

THE  WINNING  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CROSS 

The  wind  had  become  so  strong  that  it  was 
necessary  to  move  the  mess  boards  around  to  the 
leeward  side  of  the  pavilion.  Several  fellows  re- 
marked on  the  pungent  odor  which  permeated  the 
air  and  a  couple  who  had  been  stalking  spoke  of 
the  woods  fires  over  beyond  Tannerstown. 

Garry  was  not  at  supper,  nor  the  little  sandy- 
haired  fellow,  but  the  others  of  his  patrol  came 
down  before  the  meal  was  over. 

"Guess  we'll  cut  out  yarns  tonight,"  said  Jeb 
Rushmore,  "and  hike  out  on  a  little  tour  of  in- 
spection." 

"There  are  a  couple  of  tramps  in  the  woods 
this  side  of  the  cut,  right  up  the  hill  a  ways," 
said  Tom. 

"We  need  rain,  that's  sure,"  said  another  scout. 

"Maybe  we'll  get  some  with  this  wind,"  re- 
marked another. 

"No,  I  reckon  it's  a  dry  wind,"  said  Mr.  Rush- 
197 


198     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

more,  looking  about  and  sniffing  audibly.  "Gol 
smash  it,"  he  added,  rising  and  sniffing  still 
louder.     "Thar's  somethin'  in  the  air." 

For  a  minute  he  stood  near  his  place,  then 
strode  off  up  the  hill  a  little  way,  among  the  trees, 
where  he  paused,  listening,  like  an  animal  at  bay. 
They  could  see  his  dark  form  dimly  outlined  in 
the  darker  night. 

"J.  R.'s  on  the  scent,"  remarked  Doc.  Carson. 

Several  fellows  rose  to  join  him  and  just  at 
that  minute  Westy  Martin,  of  the  Silver  Foxes, 
and  a  scout  from  a  Maryland  troop  who  had  been 
stalking,  came  rushing  pell-mell  into  camp. 

"The  woods  are  on  fire!"  gasped  Westy.  "Up 
the  hill!     Took!" 

"I  seed  it,"  said  Jeb.    "The  wind's  bringin'  it." 

"You  can't  get  through  up  there,"  Westy 
panted.     "We  had  to  go  around." 

"Ye  couldn't  get  round  by  now.  B'ys,  we're 
a-goin'  ter  git  it  for  sure.  It's  goin'  ter  blow 
fire." 

For  a  moment  he  stood  looking  up  into  the 
woods,  with  the  boys  about  him,  straining  their 
eyes  to  see  the  patches  of  fire  which  were  visible 
here  and  there.  Suddenly  these  patches  seemed 
to  merge  and  make  the  night  lurid  with  a  red 


WINNING  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CROSS    199 

glare,  a  perfect  pandemonium  of  crackling  and 
roaring  assailed  the  silent  night  and  clouds  of  suf- 
focating smoke  enveloped  them. 

The  fire,  like  some  heartless  savage  beast,  ha$ 
stolen  upon  them  unawares  and  was  ready  to 
spring. 

Jeb  Rushmore  was  calm  and  self-contained  and 
so  were  most  of  the  boys  as  they  stood  ready  to 
do  his  bidding. 

"Naow,  ye  see  what  I  meant  when  I  said  a 
leopard's  as  sneaky  as  a  fire,"  said  Jeb.  "Here, 
you  Bridgeboro  troop  and  them  two  Maryland 
troops  and  the  troop  from  WashinYn,"  he  called, 
"you  make  a  bucket  line  like  we  practiced.  Tom 
— whar's  Tom?  And  you  Oakwood  b'ys,  git  the 
buckets  out'n  the  provish'n  camp.  Line  up  thar 
ri'  down  t'  the  water's  edge  and  come  up  through 
here.  You  fellers  from  Pennsylvany  'n'  you 
others  thar,  git  the  axes  'n'  come  'long  o'  me. 
Don't  git  rattled,  now." 
<  Like  clockwork  they  formed  a  line  from  the 
lake  up  around  the  camp,  completely  encircling 
it.  The  fire  crept  nearer  every  second,  stifling 
them  with  its  pungent  smoke.  Other  scouts,  some 
with  long  axes,  others  with  belt  axes,  followed 
Jeb   Rushmore,   chopping  down  the   small   trees 


200    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

which  he  indicated  along  the  path  made  by  this 
human  line.  In  less  than  a  minute  fifty  or  more 
scouts  were  working  desperately  felling  trees 
along  the  path.  Fortunately,  the  trees  were  small, 
and  fortunately,  too,  the  scouts  knew  how  to  fell 
them  so  that  they  fell  in  each  case  away  from 
the  path,  leaving  an  open  way  behind  the  camp. 

Along  this  open  way  the  line  stood,  and  thus 
the  full  buckets  passing  from  hand  to  hand  with 
almost  the  precision  of  machinery,  were  emptied 
along  this  open  area,  soaking  it. 

"The  rest  o'  you  b'ys,"  called  Jeb,  "climb  up 
on  the  cabins — one  on  each  cabin,  and  three  or 
four  uv  ye  on  the  pavilion.  Some  o'  ye  stay  below 
to  pass  the  buckets  up.  Keep  the  roofs  wet — 
that's  whar  the  sparks'll  light.     Hey,  Tom!" 

As  the  hurried  work  went  on  one  of  Garry's 
troop  grasped  Jeb  by  the  arm.  "How  about  our 
cabin?"  said  he,  fearfully.  "There  are  two  fel- 
lows up  there." 

Jeb  paused  a  moment,  but  shook  his  head. 
"They'll  hev  ter  risk  jumpin'  int'  th'  cut,"  said 
he.  "No  mortal  man  c'u'd  git  to  'em  through 
them  woods  naow." 

The  boy  fell  back,  sick  at  heart  as  he  thought 
of  those  two  on  the  lonely  hill  surrounded  by 


WINNING  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CROSS    201 

flame  and  with  a  leap  from  the  precipice  as  their 
only  alternative.  It  was  simply  a  choice  between 
two  forms  of  awful  death. 

The  fire  had  now  swept  to  within  a  few  yards 
of  the  outer  edge  of  the  camp,  but  an  open  way 
had  been  cleared  and  saturated  to  check  its  ad- 
vance and  the  roofs  of  the  shacks  were  kept 
soaked  by  a  score  or  more  of  alert  workers  as  a 
precaution  against  the  blowing  sparks. 

Tom  Slade  had  not  answered  any  of  Jeb's  calls 
for  him.  At  the  time  of  his  chief's  last  summons 
he  was  a  couple  of  hundred  feet  from  the  build- 
ings, tearing  and  tugging  at  one  of  the  overflow 
tents.  Like  a  madman  and  with  a  strength  born 
of  desperation  he  dragged  the  pole  down  and, 
wrenching  the  stakes  out  of  the  ground  by  main 
force,  never  stopping  to  untie  the  ropes,  he  hauled 
the  whole  dishevelled  mass  free  of  the  parapher- 
nalia which  had  been  beneath  it,  down  to  the  lake. 
Duffel  bags  rolled  out  from  under  it,  the  uprooted 
stakes  which  came  along  with  it  caught  among 
trees  and  were  torn  away,  the  long  clumsy  canvas 
trail  rebelled  and  clung  to  many  an  obstruction, 
only  to  be  torn  and  ripped  as  it  was  hauled  willy- 
nilly  to  the  shore  of  the  lake. 

In  he  strode,  tugging,  wrenching,  dragging  it 


202     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

after  him.  Part  of  it  floated  because  of  the  air 
imprisoned  beneath  it,  but  gradually  sank  as  it 
became  soaked.  Standing  knee-deep,  he  held  fast 
to  one  corner  of  it  and  waited  during  one  precious 
minute  while  it  absorbed  as  much  of  the  water 
as  it  could  hold. 

It  was  twice  as  heavy  now,  but  he  was  twice  as 
strong,  for  he  was  twice  as  desperate  and  had  the 
strength  of  an  unconquerable  purpose.  The  lips 
of  his  big  mouth  were  drawn  tight,  his  shock  of 
hair  hung  about  his  stolid  face  as  with  bulldog 
strength  and  tenacity  he  dragged  the  dead  weight 
of  dripping  canvas  after  him  up  onto  the  shore. 
The  water  trickled  out  of  its  clinging  folds  as 
he  raised  one  side  of  the  soaking  fabric,  and 
dragged  the  whole  mass  up  to  the  provision 
cabin. 

He  seized  the  coil  of  lasso  rope  and  hung  it 
around  his  neck,  then  raising  the  canvas,  he  pulled 
it  over  his  head  like  a  shawl  and  pinned  it  about 
him  with  the  steel  clutch  of  his  ringers,  one  hand 
at  neck  and  one  below. 

Up  through  the  blazing  woods  he  started  with 
the  leaden  weight  of  this  dripping  winding  sheet 
upon  him  and  catching  in  the  hubbly  obstructions 
in  his  path.     The  water  streamed  down  his  face 


"DON'T    JUMP — IT'S    ME— TOM    SLADE  !  " 


Page  204 


WINNING  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CROSS    203 

and  he  felt  the  chill  of  it  as  it  permeated  his 
clothes,  but  that  was  well — it  was  his  only  friend 
and  ally  now. 

Like  some  ghostly  bride  he  stumbled  up  through 
the  lurid  night,  dragging  the  unwieldly  train  be- 
hind him.  Apparently  no  one  saw  this  strange 
apparition  as  it  disappeared  amid  the  enveloping 
flames. 

"Tom — whar's  Tom?"  called  Jeb  Rushmore 
again. 

Up  the  hill  he  went,  tearing  his  dripping  armor 
when  it  caught,  and  pausing  at  last  to  lift  the  soak- 
ing train  and  wind  that  about  him  also. 

The  crackling  flames  gathering  about  him  like 
a  pack  of  hungry  wolves  hissed  as  they  lapped 
against  his  wet  shroud,  and  drew  back,  baffled, 
only  to  assail  him  again.  The  trail  was  narrow 
and  the  flames  close  on  either  side. 

Once,  twice,  the  drying  fabric  was  aflame,  but 
he  wrapped  it  under  wetter  folds.  His  face  was 
burning  hot;  he  strove  with  might  and  main 
against  the  dreadful  faintness  caused  by  the  heat, 
and  the  smoke  all  but  suffocated  him. 

On  and  up  he  pressed,  stooping  and  sometimes 
almost  creeping,  for  it  was  easier  near  the  ground. 
Now  he  held  the  drying  canvas  with  his  teeth  and 


204    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

beat  with  his  hands  to  extinguish  the  persistent 
flames.  His  power  of  resistance  was  all  but  gone 
and  as  he  realized  it  his  heart  sank  within  him. 
At  last,  stooping  like  some  sneaking  thing,  he 
reached  the  sparser  growth  near  the  cut. 

Two  boys  who  had  been  driven  to  the  verge  of 
the  precipice  and  lingered  there  in  dread  of  the 
alternative  they  must  take,  saw  a  strange  sight. 
A  dull  gray  mass,  with  two  ghostly  hands  reach- 
ing out  and  slapping  at  it,  and  a  wild-eyed  face 
completely  framed  by  its  charred  and  blackening 
shroud,  emerged  from  amid  the  fire  and  smoke 
and  came  straight  toward  them. 

"What  is  it?"  whispered  the  younger  boy, 
drawing  closer  to  Garry  in  momentary  fright  at 
the  sight  of  this  spectral  thing. 

"Don't  jump — it's  me — Torn  Slade!  Here, 
take  this  rope,  quick.  I  guess  it  isn't  burned  any. 
I  meant  to  wet  it,  too,"  he  gasped.  "Is  that  tree 
solid?  I  can't  seem  to  see.  All  right,  quick  I 
I  can't  do  it.  Make  a  loop  and  put  it  under  his 
arms  and  let  him  down." 

There  was  not  a  minute  to  spare,  and  no  time 
for  explanations  or  questions.  Garry  lowered  the 
boy  into  the  cut. 

"Now  you'll  have  to  let  me  down,  I'm  afraid," 


WINNING  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CROSS    205 

said  Tom.  "My  hands  are  funny  and  I  can't — I 
can't  go  hand  over  hand." 

"That's  easy,"  said  Garry. 

But  it  was  not  so  easy  as  it  had  been  to  lower 
the  smaller  boy.  He  had  to  encircle  the  tree 
twice  with  the  rope  to  guard  against  a  too  rapid 
descent,  and  to  smooth  the  precipice  where  the 
rope  went  over  the  edge  to  keep  it  from  cutting. 
When  Tom  had  been  lowered  into  the  cut,  Garry 
himself  went  down  hand  over  hand. 

It  was  cool  down  there,  but  they  could  hear  the 
wild  flames  raging  above  and  many  sparks  de- 
scended and  died  on  the  already  burned  surface. 
The  air  blew  in  a  strong,  refreshing  draught 
through  the  deep  gully,  and  the  three  boys,  hardly 
realizing  their  hair-breadth  escape,  seemed  to  be 
in  a  different  world,  or  rather,  in  the  cellar  of  the 
world  above,  which  was  being'Swept  by  that  heart- 
less roistering  wind  and  fire. 

Along  through  the  cut  they  came,  a  dozen  or 
more  scarred  and  weary  scouts,  their  clothing  in 
tatters,  anxious  and  breathing  heavily.  They  had 
come  by  the  long  way  around  the  edge  of  the 
woods  and  got  into  the  cut  where  the  hill  was  low 
and  the  gully  shallow. 


2o6    TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

"Is  anyone  there?"  a  scout  called,  as  they 
neared  the  point  above  which  Hero  Cabin  had 
stood.  They  knew  well  enough  that  no  one  could 
be  left  alive  above. 

"We're  here,"  called  Garry. 

"Hurt?    Did  you  jump — both  of  you?" 

"Three,  the  kid  and  I  and  Tom  Slade." 

"Tom  Slade?    How  did  he  get  here?" 

"Came  up  through  the  woods  and  brought  us  a 
rope.  We're  all  right,  but  he's  played  out.  Got 
a  stretcher?" 

"Sure." 

They  came  up,  swinging  their  lanterns,  to  where 
Tom  lay  on  the  ground  with  Garry's  jacket  folded 
under  his  head  for  a  pillow,  and  they  listened 
soberly  to  Garry's  simple  tale  of  the  strange, 
shrouded  apparition  that  had  emerged  from  the 
flames  with  the  precious  life  line  coiled  about  its 
neck. 

It  was  hard  to  believe,  but  there  were  the  cold 
facts,  and  they  could  only  stand  about,  silent  and 
aghast  at  what  they  heard. 

"We  missed  him,"  said  one  scout. 

"Is  the  camp  saved?"  asked  Garry. 

"Mostly,  but  we  had  a  stiff  job." 

"Don't  talk  about  our  job,"  said  Doc  Carson 


WINNING  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CROSS    207 

as  he  stooped,  holding  the  lantern  before  Tom's 
blackened  face  and  taking  his  wrist  to  feel  the 
pulse. 

Again  there  was  silence  as  they  all  stood  about 
and  the  little  sandy-haired  fellow  with  the  cough 
crept  close  to  the  prostrate  form  and  gazed,  fas- 
cinated, into  that  stolid,  homely  face. 

And  still  no  one  spoke. 

"It  means  the  gold  cross,"  someone  whispered. 

"Do  you  think  the  gold  cross  is  good  enough?" 
Garry  asked,  quietly. 

"It's  the  best  we  have." 

Then  Roy,  who  was  among  them,  kneeled  down 
and  put  his  arm  out  toward  Tom. 

"Don't  touch  my  hand,"  said  Tom,  faintly. 
"It  isn't  that  I  don't  want  to  shake  hands  with 
you,"  he  added.  "I  wanted  to  do  that  when  I 
met  you — before  supper.  Only  my  hands  feel 
funny — tihgly,  kind  of — and  they  hurt. 

"Any  of  my  own  patrol  here?"  he  asked 
after  a  moment. 

"Yes,  Connie  Bennett's  here — and  Will  Bron- 
son." 

"Then  I'd  rather  have  them  carry  the  stretcher, 
and  I'd  like  for  you  to  walk  along  by  me — I  got 
something  to  say  to  you." 


208     TOM  SLADE  AT  TEMPLE  CAMP 

They  did  as  he  asked,  the  others  following  at 
a  little  distance,  except  the  little  sandy-haired  boy 
who  persisted  in  running  forward  until  Garry 
called  him  back  and  kept  his  own  deterring  arm 
about  the  boy's  shoulder. 

"I  don't  mind  my  Qwn  patrol  hearing — or  you. 
I  don't  care  about  the  gold  cross.  It's  only  what 
it  means  that  counts — sort  of.  I  let  Garry  save 
your  brother,  Will,  because  I  knew  he  needed  to 
stay  longer — I  knew  about  that  kid  not  being 
strong — that's  all.  I  can  go  through  water  as 
easy  as  I  can  through  fire — it's — it's  easier — if  it 
comes  to  that." 

"Don't  try  to  talk,  Tom,"  said  Roy,  brokenly. 

"But  I  wouldn't  tell  even  you,  Roy,  because — 
because  if  he'd  found  it  out  he  wouldn't  think  it 
was  fair — and  he  wouldn't  have  taken  it.  That's 
the  kind  of  a  fellow  he  is,  Roy." 

"Yes,  I  know  what  kind  of  a  fellow  he  is,"  said 
Roy. 

"Anyway,  it's  no  matter  now.  You  see  your- 
self Hero  Cabin  is  burned  down.  A  fellow  might 
— he  might  even  lose  the  cross.  It's  the  three 
weeks  that  counted — see?" 

"Yes,  I  see,"  said  Roy. 

"And  tomorrow  I  want  to  go  back  with  you 


WINNING  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CROSS    209 

fellows  in  the  Good  Turn — and  see  Mr.  Temple. 
I  want  to  ask  him  if  that  kid  can  stay  with  Jeb 
'till  Christmas.  Then  I'll  come  back  up  to  camp. 
IVe  thought  a  lot  lately  about  our  trip  up  in  the 
Good  Turn,  Roy." 

"Yes — so  have  I,  Tom.  But  don't  talk  now. 
Doc  doesn't  want  you  to." 

"We've  got  to  find  Harry  Stanton,"  said  Tom, 
after  a  few  minutes. 

"Yes,"  said  Roy. 

But  whether  they  ever  did  find  him  and  the 
singular  adventures  attending  their  quest,  are 
really  part  of  another  story. 


THE     END 


EVERY  BOY'S  LIBRARY 

BOY  SCOUT  EDITION  fms|vogo£| 

The  Boy  Scouts  of  America  in  making  up  this  Library,  selected  only  such  books 
as  had  been  proven  by  a  nation-wide  canvass  to  be  most  universally  in  demand 
among  the  boys  themselves.  Originally  published  in  more  expensive  editions  only, 
they  are  now,  under  the  direction  of  the  Scout's  National  Council,  re-issued  at  a 
lower  price  so  that  all  boys  may  have  the  advantage  of  reading  and  owning  them. 
It  is  the  only  series  of  books  published  under  the  control  of  this  great  organization, 
whose  sole  object  is  the  welfare  and  happiness  of  the  boy  himself.  For  the  first 
*ime  m  history  a  guaranteed  library  is  available,  and  at  a  price  so  low  as  to  be 
within  the  reach  cf  all. 


Along  the  Mohawk  Trail 

Percy  K.  Fitzhugh 
Animal  Heroes      Ernest  Thompson  Seton 

Baby  Elton,  Quarter-Back 

Leslie  W.  Quirk 
Bartley,  Freshman  Pitcher 

William  Heyliger 

Be    Prepared,   The   Boy    Scouts   in 
Florida  A.  W.  Dimock 

Ben-Hur  Lew  Wallace 

Boat-Building  and  Boating   Dan.  Beard 
The  Boy  Scouts  of  Black  Eagle  Patrol 

Leslie  W.  Quirk 

The  Boy  Scouts  of  Bob's  Hill 

Charles  Pierce  Burton 
The  Boys'  Book  of  New  Inventions 

Harry  E.  Maule 

Buccaneers  and  Pirates  of  Our  Coasts 

Frank  R.  Stockton 

The  Call  of  the  Wild  Jack  London 

Cattle  Ranch  to  College 

Russell  Doubleday 
College  Years  Ralph    D.   Paine 

Crooked  Trails  Frederic  Remington 

The  Cruise  of  the  Cachalot 

Frank  T.  Bullen 
The  Cruise  of  the  Dazzler  Jack  London 
Danny  Fists  Walter  Camp 

For  the  Honor  of  the  School 

Ralph  Henry  Barbour 

A  Gunner  Aboard  the  "Yankee" 

From  the  Diary  of  Number   Five  of  the 

After  Port  Gun 

The  Half-Back  Ralph  Henry  Barbour 

Handbook  for  Boys,  Revised  Edition 

Boy  Scouts  of  America 

Handicraft  for  Outdoor  Boys  Dan.  Beard 
The  Horsemen  of  the  Plains 

Joseph  A.  Altsheler 
Jeb  Hutton;  The  Story  of  a  Georgia 

Boy  James  B.  Connolly 


The  Jester  of  St.  Timothy's 

Arthur  Sianwcod  Pier 
Jim  Davis  John  Masefieid 

Kidnapped  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

Last  of  the  Chiefs        Joseph  A.  Altsheler 
Last  of  the  Plainsmen  Zane  Grey 

The  Last  of  the  Mohicans 

James  Fenimore  Cooper 

A  Midshipman  in  the  Pacific 

Cyrus  Townsend  Brady 
Pitching  in  a  Pinch  Christy  Mathewson 
Ranche  on  the  Oxhide  Henry  Inman 
Redney  McGaw;  A  Circus  Story  for 

Boys  Arthur  E.  McFarlane 

The  School  Days  of  Elliott  Gray,  Jr. 

Colton  Maynard 

Scouting  with  Daniel  Boone 

Everett  T.  Tomlinson 

Three  Years  Behind  the  Guns 

Lieu  Tisdale 

Tommy  Remington's  Battle 

Burton  E.  Stevenson 

Tecumseh's  Young  Braves 

Everett  T.  Tomlinson 

Tom  Strong,  Washington's  Scout 

Alfred  Bishop  Mason 
To  the  Land  of  the  Caribou 

Paul  Greene  Tomlinson 
Treasure  Island  Robert  Louis  Stevenson 
20,000  LeaguesUnder  theSea  JulesVeme 
Ungava    Bob;    A   Tale   of   the    Fur 

Trappers  Dillon  Wallace 

Wells  Brothers;  The  Young  Cattle 

Kings  Andy  Adams 

Williams  of  West  Point  Hugh  S.  Johnson 
The  Wireless  Man;  His  work  and  ad- 
ventures Francis  A.  Collins 
The  Wolf  Hunters    George  Bird  Grinnell 

The  Wrecking  Master     Ralph  D.  Paine 
Yankee  Ships  and  Yankee  Sailors 

James  Barnes 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,    Publishers,    NEW  YORK 


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